


What We Require

by booksblanketsandtea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Multi, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksblanketsandtea/pseuds/booksblanketsandtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's Eighth Year, and he's determined it will be a normal one. But between Death Eater trials, rebuilding Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy, things don't quite go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Malfoy Trials

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a Harry Potter fic in literally years, and this is my first ever Draco/Harry - so be kind. Also, if you spot any mistakes, please do let me know, because I can't be bothered getting a Beta-reader.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, perhaps against his better judgement, speaks at the Malfoy trials.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy oak door to the Wizengamot courtroom shut, muffling the chaotic shouts of reporters outside. Court room ten hadn’t changed all that much since Harry’s own trial, back in his fifth year. It hadn’t even been three years ago, but it felt like a whole other life time since Harry had sat in the centre of this room and stared up at the Wizengamot, certain that he was going to be expelled from Hogwarts for protecting himself and Dudley from a (seemingly) rogue Dementor.

‘ _Speaking of Dementors_ ,’ Harry thought to himself as he scanned the chamber. There were two at the far end of the room, one stationed on either side of the second oak door. Harry could feel the cold they generated spilling across the space, and noticed with a grim smile that the seats nearest the door had been left empty, no one wanting to sit near the horrible creatures. He continued to cast an eye over the room and soon found a familiar riot of curls two rows from the front – Hermione caught his eye and waved him over.

 

The court room was largely unaltered, but Harry had certainly changed from the knobbly kneed fifteen-year-old he had been the last time he had visited this particular area of the Ministry. His emerald green eyes were direct and serious, the mature gaze made even sharper by the contrast it created with his still youthful face. Voldemort had been dead and gone for over a month, and Harry had so far managed to avoid involving himself in the reestablishment of the Ministry of Magic, despite the large outcry from the Wizarding public for him to do so. In fact, Harry mused as he walked purposefully towards the seat Hermione had saved him, he was quite sure that if it was not for his own – frankly irritating – sense of justice and honour, he would never have returned to this part of the Ministry at all.

“Harry, good, you’re here” Hermione greeted, pulling him into a quick hug. “They’re about to start.”

“Do we know who’s working on defence?” Harry asked as he sat down beside his friend, and Hermione shook her head, long brown curls swaying with the movement.

“I’ve haven’t heard anything; I suspect they’ve had to bring someone in from abroad. No lawyer in the country would take their case – everyone is too afraid to be linked to people they shouldn’t be. It’s a disgrace, the way the Ministry is handling everything.”

Harry didn’t have time to answer – the door at the far end of the room had opened, and three people in shackles were escorted into the room.

 

Despite knowing whose trial he was at, Harry almost didn’t recognise Draco Malfoy – his once platinum blonde hair fell dirty and lank, and though he had always been slender, he was now gaunt and rake thin. Hermione gasped beside him, and Harry had to agree – the young man before them was barely recognisable as the arrogant prat that had antagonised them through their school years.

With an almost sick feeling in his stomach, Harry dragged his eyes from the youngest Malfoy and looked at Lucius and Narcissa – they, too, were very obviously worse for wear, with dark circles under their eyes and their once fine clothes hanging from skeletal frames. The family had been captured just over two weeks before, but even that time in Azkaban had clearly brought the once proud family to their limit.

 

As Harry had watched, all three Malfoys were chained to the chairs in the centre of the room, and the crowd slowly quieted, waiting for the trials to begin. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Acting Minister, was presiding over the hearing, and as silence fell he stood and looked down at the prisoners.

 

“Disciplinary hearings of the twenty-fourth of June, 1998,” said Kingsley clearly, his deep voice cutting through the room with ease. “We of the Wizengamot are here today to preside over the trials of the following: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, Whiltshire, England. His wife, Narcissa Irma Malfoy (née Black), resident at Malfoy Manor, Whiltshire, England. Their son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, Whiltshire, England, and also of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland. The defendants have provided no person to head their defence, and so the court will be directing the questioning to each defendant individually during their separate trials.” Kingsley paused and continued, a touch of warning colouring his voice. “I would remind the court that leading the defendants to incriminate members of their family outside of their own trials is strictly prohibited, particularly if Veritaserum is in use. Read the charges.”

Kingsley then nodded at someone to his left, who stood up, shuffling some papers.

“The charges are as follows,” Percy Weasley read out, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting coldly in the dim light of the court room.

“Lucius Malfoy, as a Marked Death Eater and member of You-Know-Who’s inner circle, you are hereby charged with high treason against the Magical world. You are also charged with the following criminal acts: breaking and entering into the Ministry of Magic, for which you have been previously charged and sentenced. Escape from Azkaban prison. The abduction and imprisonment of the wand maker, Garrick Ollivander. The kidnapping and imprisonment of a minor, Luna Lovegood. And, finally, earlier this month, on the 6th of June, you forcibly resisted arrest and purposely injured Auror John Dawlish, who has only yesterday been released from St Mungos with his arm regrown. You will recall,” Percy added with no small amount of relish, “that your wand was snapped immediately upon your capture, for the safety of government employees and to ensure your continued incarceration.”

 

The trial for Lucius didn’t take long at all, as he plead guilty to everything. The ruling of life imprisonment was soon reached, and Percy peered coldly over his glasses at the elder Malfoy as he read the verdict. “You would do well to remember,” Percy added, “that the Ultimate Judgement has not been decided upon, only on the basis that there are no witnesses and so no evidence of your ever casting an Unforgiveable Curse. Or at least, there are no _living_ witnesses.”

“That’s enough, Weasley!” Kingsley snapped as the court murmured, mostly – from what Harry could tell – in agreement with Percy’s comment. Harry couldn’t help but agree, himself. But even so – he wasn’t sure he’d wish a lifetime of Azkaban on even his worst enemy – and there was no denying that Lucius Malfoy certainly fell under that category.

But Harry had seen what Azkaban had done to Sirius – how it had made him angry, and scared. How the darks of his eyes never quite shone like they did in old photos, how he couldn’t meet anyone’s eye for longer than a few seconds. And then, of course, there were the nightmares – Grimmauld Place was a large house, but it was old and the walls were thin. No one in the Order had ever mentioned the screams and whimpers coming from Sirius’ room, but the nightmares were visceral enough for the rest of the house to know exactly what tortured the ex-prisoner’s sleep.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by Hermione nudging him in the side.

“Harry, get ready, they’ll ask for witnesses soon.”

They had already moved onto Narcissa Malfoy’s sentencing – Harry had missed the charges while thinking about his Godfather. It was a good thing Hermione had decided to come with him, he might have sat through the trial without even attempting what he had come to do – for this was the reason he was here. ‘ _Well, one of the reasons, anyway_ ,’ Harry thought as Kingsley asked if anyone would speak on behalf of Mrs Malfoy.

Harry stood, ignoring the mutters that immediately started up.

“I would like to speak on behalf of Narcissa Malfoy.”

Two grubby blonde heads jerked up at his voice, but Harry kept his gaze evenly on Shaklebolt, who nodded.

“Very well – what evidence do you have for us, Mr Potter?”

“Mrs Malfoy is not a Marked Death Eater, and her actions reflect this. On the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, I confronted Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. Mrs Malfoy was put in a position where she could have very easily handed me over to the Dark Lord. In not doing so, she went against everything that would have placed her and her family at Voldemort’s right hand side – instead she asked whether or not her son Draco was alive, before lying to the Dark Lord’s face and telling him – and all the Death Eaters present – that I was dead. Mrs Malfoy’s actions saved my life, and I would like to ask the court to please keep this in mind as they come to a decision.”

Harry sat back down and breathed a sigh of relief, smiling weakly when Hermione gave him a subtle thumbs-up. He _hated_ speaking in public like that, but he’d been going over what he wanted to say for nearly a week now and he was pleased that he had remembered everything. All that remained was to wait out the hearing, and then he could head back home.

 

Three senior members of the Wizengamot had their heads together, clearly trying to come to a decision on the outcome of the hearing. One of the wizards, a plump man with hair that could rival a Weasley, nodded and the other, a feeble looking old witch with a mole above her lip that Harry could see from across the court, shrugged before nodding as well. The third, a swarthy looking man with steel grey hair and eyes, frowned at his companions, but stood and turned to the court.

“We of the Wizengamot would like to pass a vote on the verdict. We would sentence Narcissa Malfoy to four years of monitored home detention, as well as the confiscation of her wand. After two years has passed, the case would be reviewed with the possibility for Mrs Malfoy’s wand to be returned to her, a condition that is dependent on acceptable behaviour. All those in favour?”

Harry held his breath as the remaining members of the Wizengamot voted – it was going to be a close thing. Hermione grabbed his arm and squeezed as she counted, before sighing in relief.

“It’s in her favour. She won’t go to prison.”

 

The heaviness on Harry’s chest eased a little and he sat back in his chair with a slow exhale. Well, that was something, at least. He looked down at Mrs Mafloy and found her sitting upright in her chair, her chin raised proudly and her tired eyes closed. Every so often, she would give a slight tremble. To her left, Lucius sat, his eyes staring at the floor absently. He looked nothing like the once proud man Harry remembered. Feeling uncomfortable at the sight of the so obviously defeated man, Harry shifted his gaze to the right of Mrs Malfoy as Percy read out the next lot of charges.

“Draco Malfoy, as a Marked Death Eater, you are hereby charged with treason against the Magical world. You are also charged with the following criminal acts: plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore, three counts of attempted murder – two of which resulted in your fellow students being cursed and poisoned respectively. You did not have time to follow through in your third attempt before the Order of the Phoenix spy, Severus Snape, stepped in and killed Albus Dumbledore – on what we now know to be the Headmasters’ own orders.”

Harry frowned – that wasn’t right. Malfoy had had plenty of time to kill Dumbledore that night on the astronomy tower. Why wasn’t he correcting them?

“Furthermore,” Percy continued, “You breached the Hogwarts defences and allowed Death Eaters into the castle, which resulted in a number of your fellow students and some of the Order of the Phoenix to be injured. Finally, you used the Imperius Curse on Madam Ellie Rosmerta, of Hogsmeade. As the court knows, the punishment for use of an Unforgiveable is the Ultimate Judgement. Unless of course, the defendant is pleading ‘Not Guilty’?” Percy checked, glancing away from his papers to look down at the final offender.

 

Draco Malfoy sat primly, his shackled hands fisted on his knees and his usually cold eyes wide as they flitted around the room. He shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was cracked and dry, like he hadn’t used it in months.

“No. I- I’m guilty.”  

Harry did his best not to flinch as the words reached him, and suddenly Malfoy’s eyes landed on him, grey meeting green as they stared at each other, and the distance between them suddenly seemed impossibly strange to Harry. Here was someone he had known since he was eleven years old – the very first schoolmate that he had ever met, in fact. It seemed extraordinary to consider that, in a few seconds, Draco Malfoy would likely be condemned to Azkaban, perhaps for life. And possibly, if what Percy was leading towards went through, Azkaban would be the kinder punishment. The thought sat heavy in Harry’s gut, and he found himself standing again.

 

“I would like to speak in Draco Malfoy’s defence.”

This time the court room was silent as they stared down at their young saviour.

“Harry- he’s confessed. He’s guilty,” Hermione said, her bitter voice betraying her hatred of the situation. Harry shook her hand from his arm and continued, uncomfortably aware that every single eye in the room was on him.

“Draco Malfoy was a minor when he was forced to take the Dark Mark. He was given a choice of following Voldemort or watching his parents be tortured and killed, before he followed them. I was there that night on the Astronomy tower,” at this Malfoy made an injured sort of sound, but Harry ignored him and kept speaking, his mouth running ahead of his brain in leaps and bounds.

“Malfoy had plenty of time to kill Professor Dumbledore, but when the Death Eaters arrived he was lowering his wand. He wasn’t going to go through with it – he’s a prat, but he’s not a killer. When we were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor in March, he recognised me, but he didn’t say anything, likely saving my life. Then when we were escaping, he and I fought for his wand – but he barely made an effort. He practically _gave_ it to me, and in doing so, was one of the reasons I was able to defeat Voldemort. Draco Malfoy isn’t a Death Eater; he’s just a kid who got caught up in a war he didn’t expect or want.” Harry huffed a breath, and as he sat back down he added. “Trust me, I know. I’m one as well.”

Harry glanced down at Malfoy as the voices in the room slowly started to rise again. The blonde was staring at him, his grey eyes were still full of fear, but they were also cautious and calculating. Harry nodded and the Slytherin sneered slightly, before turning to look back up at the people who would decide his fate. Harry had to stop himself grinning suddenly – it seemed Azkaban hadn’t completely changed Malfoy. It was almost reassuring, in an annoying kind of way.

 

The three Wizengamot elders were muttering heatedly again, and after a few minutes, the old witch with the mole above her lip stood up.

“We have taken what Mr Potter has said into account, but due to the fact that he never approached anyone for help, we have decided that though Mr Malfoy was a minor, his actions were those of an adult and so he must be tried as an adult. We have, however, decided that the Ultimate Judgement is not an appropriate punishment in this particular case. We of the Wizengamot would recommend no less than thirty years imprisonment in Azkaban Prison.”

There was a muffled sob from the floor below, and Narcissa Malfoy shook her head, distraught.

“Please, he’s just a boy, please don’t do this to him!”

Draco had gone deathly pale, and seemed close to hyperventilating. His hands were shaking in his lap, and he had closed his eyes tight, shutting out the room.

Hermione had grabbed Harry’s arm yet again and was speaking quickly under her breath, her voice rushed and shrill.

“He’s a minor, he was a minor, they can’t _do_ this, there’s absolutely no precedent! The closest they’ve come to a full Wizengamot trial for an underage wizard was _your_ trial and that was just regarding expulsion, they can’t possibly sentence him to thirty years, it goes against everything in Wizarding Law, this is basically a death sentence, for God’s sake! Harry look at him, he won’t survive Azkaban, and they _know_ that!”

The people in the room had started shouting at each other – some were in favour of charging Malfoy with thirty years, others seemed to want more. Only a few seemed to be following Hermione’s train of thought – Harry recognised one of the witches from his own trial bellowing at a man two rows down from her, her face ruddy as she spat “He’s a goddamn minor, Henderson, you absolutely idiotic baboon!”

The noise had risen to such a roar that it took a few seconds for everyone to realise that a new voice had joined the ruckus.

“He’s innocent!” came the voice again, and this time everyone stopped and stared down at Lucius Malfoy, who was speaking without prompting for the first time since the trial began.

Harry had an awful theory tickling at the back of his brain, and it didn’t take more than a second before the elder Malfoy confirmed it.

 

“I imperiused Draco. He’s innocent.” Lucius was shaking and his face was grey. His eyes, though, met Kingsley Shacklebolt’s head on.

The acting Minister for Magic frowned. “You understand what the consequences are for casting an Unforgiveable?”

Lucius nodded, and the hush throughout the courtroom was suddenly broken by a shout as the youngest Malfoy understood just what was happening.

“Father, no!”

Lucius ignored his son, and kept his eyes level with Shacklebolt.

“I knew Draco would never join the Dark Lord under his own free will. So I cast the Imperius curse on him. I would say you can check my wand, but, well. That is, as you know, now impossible.”

“Father, stop, you can’t-”

Kingsley spoke over Draco, the noise in the room rising once again to a thunderous level.

“Very well. We will continue the hearing of Draco Malfoy at another date. I move to change the verdict on the case of Lucius Malfoy. All those in favour of passing the Ultimate Judgement?”

Most of the Wizengamot raise their hands and Harry felt sick. Below them, Draco was still yelling.

“No, you can’t do this, no! Mother, tell them, please!”

The guards had been called forward and they approached Lucius, one of them tapping his wand to the chains that then unravelled from the chair. Hermione had a hand over her mouth in dismay as they all but dragged the elder Malfoy to the door where the two Dementors were standing guard.

“Oh God, no.” she whispered in disgust.

 

Draco’s voice had risen, shrill and horrified as he started struggling, trying desperately to rise from where he was bound to the chair. Beside him, Narcissa was crying silently, her face streaked with tears.

Lucius looked over his shoulder, his face terrified even as he called out. “I’m sorry. I love you both. I’m sorry.”

“NO! FATHER!”

But the door had closed behind him, and barely a second later the temperature in the room dropped sharply, the few candles lighting the court flickered and went out. There was the sound of retching and the dulled splash of vomit hitting concrete. The occupants of the room watched through the gloom as Draco Malfoy collapsed forward in his chair and sobbed weakly, his breath rising like mist in the piercing cold.


	2. The Birthday Bulletin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry turns eighteen, a verdict is reached in the case of Draco Malfoy, and the trio plan for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, and please, if you spot any mistakes - let me know!

Harry woke early on his birthday, the sun creeping softly in through the window of Ron’s room at the Burrow. He stretched and rolled over, squinting against the growing light as he listened to Ron’s snores from the bed.

Harry lay on his mattress on the floor for a few more minutes, listening to the birds outside and the house around him as it slowly woke for the new day. God knows how many people would be swarming the Burrow in a few hours – it was meant to be a secret, but Ron was terrible at keeping quiet, and Harry wasn’t exactly stupid, so he knew all about the party Molly and Arthur were planning for him. It was nice – he’d never really had a surprise party before, though he was kind of thankful that Ron was useless at keeping secrets. It meant he could prepare himself for the onslaught that was to come. Harry was still holding out hope that the party wouldn’t be too extravagant, but then, he’d never known Molly Weasley to hold back on anything. Biting back a yawn as Ron gave a particularly loud snort, Harry dragged himself up from his makeshift bed on the floor and quietly made his way out of the room and down to the kitchen.

 

Mrs Weasley was already in full swing, cooking bacon with one hand as she waved her wand to mix a bowl (of what Harry optimistically thought looked like chocolate batter) with the other.

“Oh, Harry! Goodness you’re up early! Happy birthday, dear.” Said Molly as Harry bent down to accept the kiss on the cheek she fondly gave him.

“Morning Mrs Weasley – can I give you a hand?” Harry smiled warmly, even as the older witch started shooing him away.

“No, of course not, not on your birthday! Why don’t you go sit at the table and you and Arthur can have a nice cup of tea – breakfast’s nearly ready,” she added to her husband as he walked in from the backyard, grinning, what looked to be a muggle fire alarm in his hand.

“It smells wonderful dear,” Arthur said, sitting down at the head of the table and wishing Harry a happy birthday as he poured them both a cup of tea. Mr Weasley had placed the muggle fire alarm next to the tea pot and every so often it would yell out a curse word, and the man would chuckle cheerfully into his teacup.  

“Arthur, you haven’t been charming those blasted muggle contraptions of yours again, have you?” said Mrs Weasley with the exasperation of a woman who had asked a question to which she already knew the answer.

“Course he has,” said another voice as George stumbled down the stairs, his hair a mess and eyes bleary. “And he will as long he still has them, Mum, you know that. That’s a good curse-charm, Dad, can I have a tinker with that? Oh, Happy birthday Harry.”

 

Mrs Weasley bustled around the kitchen, shooting exasperated looks at her husband and son as they experimented with the alarm, the voice changing every now and then in volume and pitch, but always saying the same unsavoury remarks. Harry sat and watched them as he cut up the bacon Mrs Weasley had piled onto his plate.

George was slowly coming back out of his shell – it would take time, Harry knew, but every so often there were glimpses of who he had been before the death of his twin. It was probably the reason Molly hadn’t sent Arthur and his cussing alarm straight back out of the kitchen, Harry thought ruefully. George’s smiles were too rare at the moment to get rid of a potential source of amusement.

His musings were interrupted by Ron, Ginny and Hermione coming down stairs - each wishing Harry a good birthday - and the paper being delivered by Hermes, the owl Percy was given by the Ministry when he took a position in the Magical Law Enforcement office. Mr Weasley offered Hermes a rasher of his bacon as he took the paper and unfolded it – his usually amiable face closed off and he frowned.

 

“They’ve finally come to a conclusion on the Malfoy case,” he said, scanning the paper quickly. Harry looked up from his breakfast – ever since the day when he had spoken at the Ministry, Draco Malfoy’s fate had been under intense public scrutiny as the Wizengamot went back and forward, trying to come to a verdict.

The table had gone quiet as Mr Weasley read, and Harry’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

“What did they decide?”

Mr Weasley kept reading for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“I almost can’t believe it. He’s been put under probation, with regular check-ins with the Auror department. Whatever you said that day at the Ministry must have worked Harry,” said Arthur, handing Harry the paper. “They’ve practically let him off scot-free.”

 

Harry stared down at the front page of the Daily Prophet. Two photos of Malfoy framed the article – the first was a picture of him walking away from the photographer, his head down and his face tight with stress. The Malfoy in the photo kept walking briskly even as the picture moved to keep up with him. His entire demeanour was as far from his usual arrogance as Harry had ever seen it.

The second, much larger photo, was one that had been splashed all over the papers since the original case. It showed the moments immediately after Lucius had been taken into the other room – Draco Malfoy sat slumped in his chair, chains tight around his limp body. His head was bowed and every so often his shoulders would heave violently in a silent sob.

Harry frowned at the photo – every time he saw it felt like an invasion, perhaps even more so than it had when he actually witnessed it.

 

Hermione had started speaking, and Harry pulled his eyes up away from the unsettling image.

“Harry might have a lot of sway at the moment, but surely the Wizengamot wouldn’t base their decision only on that? Wouldn’t Mr Malfoys’... confession have been the main reason?”

Mr Weasley shrugged.

“Honestly Hermione, it was probably a combination. Lucius Malfoy might have given them a base to stand on, but his word didn’t mean much – the only reason it holds any value is because no one can prove that he wasn’t lying, and – well. No one takes the Dementor’s Kiss lightly. I’m sure that Harry’s words certainly helped, but no one could deny that Malfoy’s case is being taken more seriously because of his father’s sacrifice.”

Harry turned back to the paper, ignoring the continuing conversation around him as he started to read.

 

**_Wizengamot pardons Junior Death Eater!_ **

_The long awaited decision on the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy (18) has finally been released this morning by Percy Weasley, the Undersecretary to Chief Warlock, Fernian Josture, and chosen spokesperson for the Wizengamot._

_“The Wizengamot has deliberated over the case of Mr Malfoy,” Weasley spoke at the Ministry this morning, “and has decided that Azkaban would be too harsh of a punishment for crimes that were committed not only as a minor, but under extreme duress. Though Mr Malfoy himself admitted to his crimes, further evidence suggests that he may not have been acting of his own volition. As the matter stands, the Wizengamot cannot in good conscience hold Malfoy to the original sentence of thirty years’ imprisonment. To reflect the new evidence that has come to light, we instead have settled on the following verdict; Mr Malfoy will be placed under an ongoing probation, with monthly consultations with an as yet nominated member of the Auror Department. Mr Malfoy, as required in the terms of his probation, will be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on September first-”_

 

Harry stopped reading the article and handed the paper to Hermione, who had been reaching across the table for it impatiently.

“He’s going back to Hogwarts.”

Ron snorted and leaned back in his chair, chewing his bacon as he spoke.

“Well, that settles it – I’m not going back.”

Hermione and Mrs Weasley both frowned, but Hermione didn't say anything as she took a stiff bite from her toast.

 

“Ron, don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re going back,” Mrs Weasley snapped as she helped herself to a cup of tea, stirring in some sugar absentmindedly with her wand.

“Why? What’s the point? Kingsley said that we’d have spots in the next class for Auror training if we wanted it. If I don’t do that, I could work with George, he’s-” Ron faulted, his eyes flicking briefly towards his brother before he continued. “He’ll need a hand around the shop. There’s no real reason for me to go back to Hogwarts, so why should I?”

Surprisingly, it was George who answered him.

“Ron… I know you don’t feel like you need to go back, but I think it’d be good for you. Your education isn’t really that important,” (“George!” Mrs Weasley scolded weakly, but he ignored her) “But you’ll regret it if you don’t take all the time you can there. Hogwarts is… it’s like home. You might feel ready to leave, but once you do, you’ll just want to go back. And you can move back here if you ever want to, but you’ll never be able to return to Hogwarts. Not without it being different.” 

Everyone was silent as George rose carefully from the table, grabbing his bacon butty and heading for the stairs. “And besides; Hermione won’t say anything, but she wants you there. Harry, too.” He called over his shoulder, and left the room in silence.

Eventually, Mrs Weasley sighed. “When did he get so wise?” she murmured sadly, and no one answered her – they didn’t need to.

Ron cleared his throat and turned to Hermione. “So, you really think I should go back?”

Hermione nodded emphatically.

“I really do. Your education _is_ important, and if you finish it then you’ll have a lot more options when you graduate. Not to mention, you shouldn’t be riding off of public opinion to get you into programs – you need to earn them properly, just like everyone else.”

“Look,” Hermione said, taking a breath. “It’s your decision, obviously. But - I’d really love it if you came back with me. The _both_ of you,” she added, looking at Harry sternly. “Everything is going to be so different as it is,” she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly, “And honestly, it just… it wouldn’t be Hogwarts without you.”

Ron stared at her seriously for a few seconds, his blue eyes tracking over Hermione’s face as he deliberated - his expression was similar to the one he wore while playing chess. “Oh dammit, fine. Yeah, all right then,” Ron shrugged exasperatedly and turned to Harry. “What do you reckon? Do you want to go back?”

 

For the past few weeks Harry had done his absolute best to avoid thinking about the future, so when he answered immediately, it surprised him just as much as it did the others.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

Hermione beamed at them both, and immediately started babbling about what changes in the curriculum would be made to accommodate the ‘Eighth Years’, as the public had started calling them. Molly had returned to the bowl of chocolate batter as she made what Harry had pretended not to notice was most certainly his ‘surprise’ birthday cake. Mr Weasley was prodding at his swearing alarm, and Ginny was suggesting other hexes and charms for some of his other curios.

 

Harry sipped at his refilled cup of tea and listened to Hermione chatting away at Ron. He hadn’t even known he’d made a decision until Hermione had asked him, but really – what was there to think about? George was right. Hogwarts was his home, and if the option for him to be there was available, he would always take it.

 

Even, Harry thought darkly, if it meant another year of school alongside Draco Malfoy.

 


	3. The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back to Hogwarts.

The cherry-red metal of the Hogwarts Express gleamed in the midmorning sunlight, the bustling crowd of students and families seemed smaller, and more subdued than any other that Harry could remember experiencing. The occasional familiar face stood out, though not quite so much as the missing ones did. Whether by choice or- or not, Harry thought grimly, the number of students attending Hogwarts this year was smaller than it should have been.

With a brief shake Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts as he turned to follow Ron and Hermione across the platform and into the nearest open entrance onto the train. Harry ignored the heads that turned and the whispers that started up as he passed by, and Ron slowed his pace so the two were walking together, as if he could shield Harry from the stares.

 

“Come on you two,” Hermione said as she stepped up into the train, a wicker basket gripped precariously under one arm and in the other hand a large trunk that should have been immovable but was made portable through a handy feather-light charm.

“Here,” said Ron stepping forward and taking the basket from Hermione. “Let me take the bloody cat, Hermione, you’ll end up dropping the poor sod.” He had hoisted his own charmed trunk onto his shoulder and carried the basket containing Crookshanks tucked up against his chest. Every so often a forlorn ‘ _mrrrooowl’_ came from the basket and Hermione smiled up at Ron as he muttered the occasional comforting word to her cat, not aware of the bookworm’s warm gaze.

Harry smiled knowingly and followed his two friends as they searched for a compartment. He was only carrying his trunk, and the absence of the once usual bird cage and its inhabitant stung Harry keenly. He was reminded of Hedwig often, and her loss still hurt.

 _All_ the losses still hurt, he thought as Hermione exclaimed and led them into a nearly full compartment, the whistle of the train signalling the start of their journey. Inside was Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood and, to Harry’s surprise, next to her sat a dark featured boy he recognised as Blaise Zabini. Neville stood up to greet them and Harry again had to hide his shock – the once small, admittedly meek boy was now almost as tall as Ron, and was much broader across the shoulders. Harry grinned as Neville clapped him on the shoulder in greeting.

“Harry, good to see you. How’re you doing?”

“Good, thanks Neville – yourself?” Harry asked, sitting next to his housemate and trying not to let his eyes wander over to the Slytherin and Ravenclaw, who looked to be discussing something from one of Luna’s books of fantastical creatures.

“Not bad. Bit strange, going back after everything, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded – he felt the same way. “It is a bit, yeah. Probably more for you than me – I just sort of feel like I’ve taken a year off. Well, from school, anyway. Must be weird, going back to Hogwarts after being there last year.”

“It wasn’t really Hogwarts last year though, was it?” a voice said from across the compartment and Harry looked over at Zabini, who was frowning.

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked, having listened in on the conversation from her spot across from Harry – a book lay briefly unattended in her lap, and Harry recognised it as Hermione’s own worn copy of ‘ _Hogwarts; a History’_.

“Blaise is right,” said Neville nodding. “Nothing that makes Hogwarts _Hogwarts_ was around last year, you know? There wasn’t any competition, for Quidditch or for the House Cup. We barely learnt anything, and the- I don’t know, _something_ just… Wasn’t there.”

“The magic,” Harry and Hermione said at the same time, and grinned at each other while the others, minus Dean, looked confused.

“Of course there was magic,” Ron said slowly, “It’s Hogwarts.”

Hermione shook her head fondly and went back to the book she was reading, but Dean explained.

“In the muggle world, something being magical... it doesn’t mean the same as it does in this world. Because muggles think that magic isn’t real, they use the word ‘magic’ to describe something… I don’t know. Unbelievable. Something amazing.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “But magic isn’t amazing- it just... Is.”

This time it was Luna who spoke up. “We only think that because we’ve been surrounded by it for our entire lives. Think about how Muggleborns react when they first see Hogwarts, or a spell. They’re captivated by it – to them, magic is all the more special, because it’s something new. It’s something unknown. I understand that better now,” she added a little sadly, her usually whimsical voice serious. “After going so many months without being able to cast a spell or even just hold my wand… You realise how important magic is to us. It’s not just a tool we use – it’s part of us, of who we are. Hogwarts wasn’t Hogwarts last year because the magic itself wasn’t the same. It was... tainted.”

Everyone was quiet for a few moments as they considered who and what, exactly, had so tainted Hogwarts last year – the sombre mood was interrupted by the door sliding open with a slam and Ginny Weasley entering the compartment.

 

“Oh, here you are! I’ve been looking for you guys for ages, budge up Zabini!” Ginny said, plonking herself down comfortably between Blaise and Luna, who both regarded her with a fond exasperation that Harry was startled to see on the Slytherin’s face. He risked a glance at Ron, who was watching the Slytherin and frowning. The redhead caught Harry’s eye and shrugged – clearly he had no idea why his sister was so comfortable around Zabini either.

Neville stood and gestured to the door. “I’m going to go find the trolley lady, I’m starving. Wanna come, Harry?”

Harry nodded and got to his feet, following the taller boy out the door and leaving the others to their discussion, which had moved on to whether or not the Quidditch tournament would be reinstated this year.

 

“So what’s the deal with Zabini and Ginny?” Harry asked as he followed Neville through the train.

Neville laughed, and Harry thought briefly it sounded a little awkward – but he must have been mistaken because the other boy quickly cut himself off and then spoke.

“Blaise and Ginny? You’ve got nothing to worry about there, they’re just friends,” he said, leaning up against the corridor wall so a Hufflepuff fifth year could pass them. She smiled at Neville and he smiled back, and Harry had the strange realisation that Neville was, actually, rather good looking nowadays. He was tall, and he’d grown into his face rather well, Harry thought, his eyes running over his friends once-too-big ears and nose.

“Blaise helped us out a bit last year,” Neville was still explaining, and Harry shook himself and tried not to blush at the realisation that he’d basically just checked out one of his mates. “He started giving us information after the Carrows tortured one of the Slytherin second years because he was a half blood. Can you imagine? I didn’t think they let anyone but purebloods into Slytherin!”

Harry shrugged.

“Well, Professor Snape was a Half-Blood. So was Voldemort, for that matter.”

There was a sudden stillness around them as the few people hanging out in the corridors went quiet, and it took a few seconds for conversation to resume as Harry and Neville finally reached the trolley lady, who was already serving someone – they didn’t have to guess who, as the blonde head had turned around sharply at Harry’s words.

 

Though Harry hadn’t considered it possible, Draco Malfoy looked even worse than he had at his trial. His eyes had dark purple circles under them, and his thin mouth turned down at the corners. For the first time, Harry could almost see the family resemblance between the boy before him and his God-Father; or at least, how Sirius had looked when Harry had first met him. Malfoy’s usually sharp cheekbones were sharper than ever, his face gaunt and almost skeletal. The arrogant spark that once lit the silver irises was gone, and he met Harry’s gaze for only a second before turning abruptly back to the old witch who manned the trolley. He thrust a Galleon at her and took the single liquorice wand she was holding out to him, before he turned and walked briskly down the corridor away from the two Gryffindors, his blonde head ducked around his hunched shoulders, almost as if he expected a hex to be thrown his way.

He possibly _did_ expect that, Harry thought as he noted a couple of Ravenclaws sneering at Malfoy as he passed by.

 

“I almost feel sorry for him,” Neville said, his voice quiet. “Not for what he did, of course, but – well.” He smiled without any humour and carefully didn’t meet Harry’s eye. “No one deserves a parent who isn’t exactly... _there_.”

Harry nodded silently and clapped Neville on the back, thinking back to the ward in St Mungos where Neville’s parents resided permanently, their minds lost forever at the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange. 

They turned back to the old witch who ran the snack trolley – she was fussing over the Galleon Malfoy had given her; apparently it was a huge over-payment.

“Ack, the foolish lad’s forgott’n ‘is change,” she said in a nearly indecipherable Irish accent. “‘Ere,” she said turning suddenly to Harry and pressing a handful of sickles into his palm, “You make sure ‘e gets ‘is mohnay.”

“Oh, but-” Harry said, startled at the suddenness of the exchange – but the witch had already turned to Neville and was asking him what he wanted. Neville shot Harry a baffled look and shrugged as he paid for his chocolate frog and slice of cauldron cake. 

Harry sighed and put the money in his pocket, and as he and Neville returned to their compartment he told himself that the silver didn’t feel any heavier than it normally would have.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio arrive at the castle, Ginny gives some insight into one of the Weasley boys, and the Sorting ceremony - Harry's last year at Hogwarts has finally begun.

As they disembarked the train and started making their way towards the carriages, Harry felt a sinking in his stomach at the number of students – in his class all the way down to the second years – who were stopping and staring at the Thestrals, once invisible and now standing plain as day in front of them, occasionally tossing their black, skeletal heads. He heard Luna explaining to one of her fellow Ravenclaws, “They won’t harm you – they’re quite gentle. They just look scary because they usually like keeping to themselves; the Hogwarts Thestrals are one of the only tame herds in Europe.”

Slowly, people were getting over the seemingly sudden appearance of the beasts and were getting up into the carriages. Harry found himself sharing with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

 

Once settled, Ron immediately turned to his sister as the carriages started forward with a jolt, a frown marring his freckled face.

“Oi, what’s the deal with Zabini?”

Ginny shrugged, and Harry had to hide a smile – the resemblance between the two redheads wasn’t obvious at first (barring their shared hair colour), but seeing the two siblings sit across from each other, Harry couldn’t help but notice the similarities in their gestures. Hermione caught his eye and hid a smile by looking out the window – she’d mentioned something similar to Harry in the past.

“Nothing’s the _deal_ with Zabini – he helped us out last year. He’s alright.”

“He’s a Slytherin!” Ron exclaimed, and Ginny’s cheeks started to flush the way they did when she was trying not to get angry.

“So what? Ron, we can’t be doing this anymore! This is entire bloody war was only possible because of that kind of thinking! Slytherins aren’t inherently evil, just like Gryffindors aren’t always good. Don’t you know that’s why Percy left?”

“What?” Ron stammered, confused by the sudden change in topic.

“Why he left. Why he found it so easy to walk away from us, when You-Know-Who had first returned?” Ginny’s freckles were almost hidden by her flushing cheeks now, and her eyes sparkled with angry tears that refused to fall.

“No, I never asked him. He came back, it doesn’t matter why he left.” Ron said mulishly, and Ginny snorted.

“Of course it matters, you idiot. He _left_ because he felt more accepted at the Ministry than he did at home. Because all his life – all _our_ lives – we had been told that to be a Slytherin is evil. To be ambitious, and cunning, and to want to succeed in life... is wrong. Did you know that the Sorting Hat wanted to put Percy in Slytherin?”

Ron gaped at his sister, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for Percy Weasley. When the Hat had tried to put Harry in Slytherin, he’d argued against it, and he’d barely known about the Hogwarts Houses for a day. He could only imagine how it must have affected Percy, who would have grown up with his everyone around him expecting him to go into Gryffindor like the rest of his family.

“But- he didn’t. The Hat put him in Gryffindor!” Ron sputtered finally, and the uncomfortable feeling Harry got in his stomach whenever he was reminded of the Sorting Hat's wish to place him in Slytherin encouraged him to speak up. 

“The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account. If Percy didn’t want to go into Slytherin, the Hat wouldn’t have put him there.”

“And the only reason Percy _didn’t_ want to go into Slytherin was because he was scared.”

“I’d be scared to go into Slytherin too!” Ron muttered, and Ginny cut over him.

“He was _scared_ , Ron, of what Mum and Dad would say. What _we_ would say. So he asked to be put into Gryffindor, where no one understood his ambition, and where he felt almost completely isolated for seven years. Is it any wonder he sided with the Ministry, where he was at least appreciated, when Voldemort returned?”

“But if he’d been put in Slytherin, he’d have ended up being a Death Eater sympathiser, thinking that purebloods were better than Muggleborns!” Ron argued, his ears growing red enough to match his hair.

“That’s not necessarily true, Ron,” Hermione said quietly as the carriage started to slow down – they were approaching the castle. “Zabini’s proof that not all Slytherins are pureblood elitists; their head of house was a Half Blood, after all. Maybe, if Percy had been in Slytherin, less of the Slytherins in his year would have been fighting against us in the war, and more _with_ us.”

“Hermione’s right,” Harry found himself saying, the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach abating as he spoke. “Don’t underestimate the influence one person can have on others. I’d never even heard of Slytherin or Gryffindor before I met you on the train,” ( _and Malfoy, in Diagon Alley,_ Harry’s brain supplied helpfully) “But one conversation with you about the Houses and I asked to be put in Gryffindor, even when- when the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

 

The carriage had come to a stop but his friends didn’t move to get out, and instead stared at Harry, their mouths agape.

“The hat wanted to put _you_ in Slytherin?” Ron asked disbelievingly, and Harry nodded.

Ginny sat back in her seat smugly.

“There, you see? Obviously Slytherin isn’t made up of evil berks, if Harry was nearly one!”

“But maybe that was-” and here Ron lowered his voice as the four of them jumped down from the carriage and joined the throng of students making their way up the castle drive to the Entrance Hall doors, which Harry could see were swung wide open, the golden candlelight flickering and guiding them towards the castle. “ _Maybe_ Harry was nearly put in Slytherin because he was one of You-Know-Who’s… _you know._ Horcruxes.”

Harry was shaking his head even before Ron had finished.

“The Hat said-” and he blushed, remembering Hermione’s description of his ‘hero complex’. “It said that I wanted to... I don’t know, prove myself, or something.”

Hermione snorted and grinned.

“Well, I think we can safely say you can tick that box, Harry. No, don’t look embarrassed, it’s okay – I know exactly what you mean. I think Muggleborns, or in your case, Muggle raised, often think that all this,” she gestured to the castle looming up in front of them, “is too good to be true. Remember what I was like the first few months here? Always answering every question? I was trying to prove myself as well.”

“What do you mean, ‘first few months’?” Ron snickered, and Hermione elbowed him in the side, smirking as the gangly redhead yelped in mock pain.

Harry and Ginny laughed as the two sniped at each other, Ron putting on a ridiculously high-pitched voice and jumping up and down with his hand in the air as he squeaked ‘Professor, Professor!’ in a genuinely terrible imitation of Hermione. The bookworm was rolling her eyes, though Harry could see the twitch in her cheek that meant she was doing her best not to smile at Ron’s antics, the evening around them darkening as they walked under the shadow of Hogwarts.

 

Harry looked away from his friends teasing and gazed up at the castle he had considered home for so many years, and sighed. Though there had been plenty of reconstruction in the months since the final battle back in May, Hogwarts still bore signs of the conflict. Here and there a turret was missing, a wall crumbled, a scorch mark from a wayward curse marred the ancient stone. There was still so much to do – Harry could only hope that the inside of the castle had fared better, though he had his doubts.

His spirits rose slightly as they ambled into the Entrance Hall – clearly a lot of work had been focussed on the main halls of the school, as there was hardly any sign of destruction here. All the students were making their way towards the Great Hall, the murmur of conversation following the children as they strode through the castle. As they entered the Great Hall, Harry paused alongside Ron and Hermione, surprised. Instead of the usual four long tables running length ways up the room, there were instead eight smaller (though still fairly long) tables running along the Hall, four at the front and four at the back. In the centre of each table, was a number – one through to eight.

“What the hell has McGonagall done to the place?” Ron asked, flabbergasted.

“She’s obviously decided to try something new. It looks to be separated by year – come on, I see Neville, let’s go grab a seat.” Hermione said, leading the boys towards the table to their left. Harry could see Ginny heading over and sitting next to Luna at the table adjacent to their one. The two senior years were at the back of the room, with the first and second year tables at the front.

 

“What the hell was McGonagall thinking?!” Ron repeated as they sat next to Neville, and a voice on the other side of the broad Gryffindor piped up cheerily.

“I think it’s rather brilliant, actually – gives us all a chance to catch up!”

Harry leaned forward and grinned at Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was looking around the room happily, nodding a welcome at every new Eighth year that sat at their table.

“Justin, how are you?”  

“Not bad, Harry, not bad! Glad to be back, I must say – it was a wretch not being here last year, I tell you! But my parents decided it was going to be too dangerous; of course being Muggles they didn’t really understand the whole war thing. Mother kept trying to explain to me that the only types blood comes in were medical ones!” Justin chuckled and Harry joined him – they might have had their differences in second year, but after the whole Parseltongue, Heir of Slytherin thing had been cleared up, Harry had found himself quite enjoying Justin’s chats. He was a bit pompous at times, but he was a good bloke, and his cheery disposition – though occasionally grating – was currently exactly what the quiet table needed to get conversation started.

The Eighth year table chatted for a few minutes as the last of the students trickled in and took their newly arranged seats. Harry had just noticed the three students wearing green down the far end of the table. It seemed Millicent Bulstrode was the only other Slytherin joining Malfoy and Zabini this year. She and Zabini were talking quietly, every so often sneaking a glance at Malfoy, who was staring down at his hands, which were resting on the table. Harry's attention was drawn away from the three snakes by a clear ringing sound through the room, and the students turned as one to see Professor McGonagall standing before them at the dais.

“Hush now please – the first years are about to arrive.”

 

Everyone fell quiet, and McGonagall was proved correct as the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and a line of terrified looking first years came shuffling in. They were following what looked to be a floating hat, and Harry realised after a second it was actually Professor Flitwick – he just couldn’t see the rest of the short man because his fellow students were in the way.

The line of new pupils walked through the centre of the room, and Hermione nudged Harry in the side. “Were we that small? I don’t believe we were that small. They’re so _little_!”

Harry had to agree with her – he remembered his own sorting, and the way the Sorting Hat fell over his ears and almost hid his face. Harry was sure if he tried it on now, it would likely just sit there on top of his head, and murmur incorrigible things in his ear. 

And speaking of the Sorting Hat – Harry did his best to lean around Ron and get a good look, but he couldn’t see for the other tables. After a few seconds, the familiar, sly voice began to sing.

 

 

_On top of your heads_

_Is where I will go_

_To see where you best belong._

_But before we begin_

_There is more you must know_

_So attend to this, my song._

_Once there were four friends_

_Whose goal was great indeed_

_A school of enchantment they did plan_

_To teach magic, was their creed._

_Gallant Gryffindor, who sought the brave_

_Kind Hufflepuff took the Just_

_The most cunning went to Slytherin_

_And for wise Ravenclaw, wit was a must._

_But their vision was clouded_

_Their bonds torn by pride_

_And though they four are gone_

_That old rift still remains wide_

_So you might have survived_

_Through loss and the dark_

_But I’m afraid it’ll be for nought_

_If you my words you do not hark;_

_Don’t repeat your errors_

_While still the castle holds_

_Begin anew and fairer_

_Mend the bonds of old._

_So enjoy the dawning sun_

_the darkest storm seems past_

_But there’s healing to be done_

_if Hogwarts is to last._

Harry clapped along with the other students – the Hat’s meaning seemed obvious enough this year, and the applause seemed more subdued than usual. ‘I wonder what the song was like last year’, Harry thought, shooting a look at Neville, whose hazel eyes were solemn and contemplative as he watched the first student (a ‘Rachel Addams’, according to Flitwick’s characteristic squeak) be called up to be sorted.

The little girl bounced nervously on the stool, the Sorting Hat sunk down on her head so far that it nearly covered her freckled nose. After a few moments, the Hat shouted out “Gryffindor!” and Harry and the other Gryffindors shouted their approval as Addams went and sat all by herself at the table marked with a number ‘1’.

Harry frowned at the disjointed cheers spread across the room – he wasn’t entirely sold on this new seating arrangement – and sat up straighter to get a better look at the newest Gryffindor. Harry could see her wide eyes all the way from the back of the Hall, but the tiny blonde raised her pointed chin mulishly and waited for the next first year (‘Nicolas Abbington’, Ravenclaw) to join her. Harry grinned at her stubborn expression and watched as, slowly, the line of first years dwindled down until the very last student was sorted.

 

There was a few moments chatter as Flitwick charmed the stool the Sorting Hat sat on to float out ahead of him as he guided it through the door behind the staff table. The talk quieted almost immediately as Professor – _Headmistress_ , Harry corrected himself – McGonagall stood once again at the podium.

“To our new students, welcome to Hogwarts. To our old – welcome back. I won’t keep you long, I know you must be hungry – but before we begin the feast, I wanted to say a few words. This school year will be unlike any Hogwarts has experienced before. Not only do we have Eighth years, for the first time,” and she gestured to the back of the room where Harry and the other senior students sat, “But we also have the opportunity for many other firsts. Past students will have noted the new layout of the Great Hall – this year, and perhaps in following years, you will no longer sit divided by your Houses. Instead, students will sit among their year mates. If you would like to discuss something with an older or younger student, then you may do so after the main course of each meal, when mingling will be allowed – encouraged, even.” McGonagall added with a prim smile. Harry thought she was doing a stellar job of ignoring the muttering that had risen up as she spoke, not to mention the occasional glare – a few even coming from the staff table behind her.

“Now – as you may have noticed upon your arrival, there are still areas of the Castle that are badly damaged. Since May there has been extensive construction throughout Hogwarts, though not everything has been completed or even, in some cases, begun. For your safety, there are certain areas are out of bounds unless you are either accompanied by a staff member or given written permission – these areas are marked off in obvious ways. Anyone found meddling with the markers or ignoring them will receive detention and lose house points.” She looked austerely over her glasses at the students before her, before continuing. “After dinner, Prefects will lead First years to their dormitories. Eighth Years, you will stay behind. Remember, class timetables will be handed out at breakfast, so no sleeping in, if you please.” McGonagall gave the room a stern once over, and any student who _had_ been considering a lie in the next morning quickly rethought that decision.

“Thank you for your patience, I won’t keep you from your supper any longer. Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone!”

 

As the tables filled with dishes upon dishes of food, a weight Harry hadn't known he was carrying seemed to lift from his shoulders. As he filled his plate with pork chops and roast potatoes, he couldn't help but smile - it was good to be home. 


	5. Contendite Sanabit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headmistress McGonagall welcomes the Eighth Years back to Hogwarts, and the thirteen students settle in to their new dorms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual this was written at like three in the morning, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know!

 

 

Harry groaned comfortably as he slumped at the table – no matter how many times he experienced the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast, it always managed to delight him with the sheer quantity (and quality) of food available. He thought briefly of the summers he had spent being borderline starved by the Dursleys, and his stomach gurgled happily as the food settled, Harry patting his tummy as he absently looked up to the ceiling above him. It was strange seeing brick rather than the night outside – a huge crack ran across the stone like a wound, the result of one of McGonagall’s own spells that Snape had deflected away when they had fought shortly before the Potions Master had fled the castle. It was just one more thing that hadn’t been fixed from the battle.

 

Harry turned back to the table and was in the middle of chatting with Susan Bones, who was sitting across from him, when McGonagall appeared at the end of the table. Harry looked around, startled – he’d barely even noticed the Hall emptying; only the Eighth years remained.

McGonagall smiled warmly at the thirteen students before her, her eyes softer than was usual for the stern Professor.

“I must say it is _wonderful_ to see you all here. I know that this must be strange for you, but I – and your other Professors – are so glad to see you have returned. Now, because of the limitations of the House dormitories, you thirteen will be staying together – Professor Flitwick and I have arranged a new common room and dorms for you. If you will follow me,” she gestured and the thirteen Eighth Years stood and followed her out of the Great Hall, murmuring amongst themselves.

“She doesn’t mean we’ll be sleeping in the same room, does she?” Ron asked quietly and Harry shrugged.

“Well obviously we’ll be split by gender, but I think we will be rooming with the other houses, if that’s what you’re implying Ron,” Hermione replied, slipping to walk in between her two friends. “And don’t complain – the Headmistress has more important things to be worrying about than you being paranoid around the Slytherins.”

“Easy for you to say!” Ron said, his voice rising a little in volume – Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow and he dropped his voice again as the group followed McGonagall onto the moving staircases – the Headmistress had paused and coughed pointedly, and the staircase had moved immediately back to where it was supposed to be; Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed, before he tuned back in to what Ron was saying.

“ _You_ don’t have to worry about wannabe Death Eaters hexing you while you’re asleep - you’ve only got Bullstrode to keep an eye on, and she can barely tie her own shoelaces!”

Hermione elbowed Ron again, and this time it was a sharp jabbing motion that made the ginger wince.

“That was unnecessarily cruel, Ron. Ginny’s already told you – we have to stop this kind of thinking. You heard what the Sorting Hat said!”

“Precisely right, Ms Granger,” a sharp voice interrupted the trio, and Harry realised with a flush of embarrassment that the group had stopped and had been listening to Ron and Hermione bicker.

 

The two brunette Slytherins were glaring at Ron in particular, and Millicent Bulstrode looked like she wanted to punch his nose in. Zabini had a hand on her shoulder, but he was sneering coldly at Ron in disgust. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked angry, but he wasn’t glaring at the trio – instead he had stepped slightly away from his fellow Slytherins and was scowling at the ground. He must have felt Harry looking at him, because Malfoy’s silver eyes snapped up and caught Harry’s. The blonde sneered, his face twisting proudly before he turned to the Headmistress.

“Moving on from Weasley’s inability to keep his mouth shut – what’s the password, Headmistress. Some of us would like to go to bed.”

McGonagall frowned at Malfoy, but Harry noticed she didn’t chastise his jibe at Ron, which she no doubt thought was warranted after the redhead’s outburst.  She turned to gesture at the portrait behind her – it was of a young girl with honey blonde curls who was sitting on a swing, eating an apple. She waved cheerfully at them as McGonagall introduced her.

“This is the portrait of Patience DeMerde – she guards your new common room. The password, Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall added looking sidelong at the blonde Slytherin, “Is _Contendite sanabit_.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and Hermione snorted delicately as the portrait of the young girl opened, and as the other Eighth years started through the door, Harry looked around quickly, not actually sure where they were – after a few seconds he realised they were on the fifth floor, not far from the Prefects Bathroom; around the corner was the corridor Fred and George had transfigured into a swamp in their prank crusade against Umbridge.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, pausing in the doorway and looking back at him, and he smiled and followed her through into their new dorm.

 

 

The layout of the room was what hit Harry first – it was an odd shape. At first look it seemed square, but he could see that it actually had a nook off to one side and the back wall was actually on an angle. The wallpaper was a light, warm brown that matched the wooden floors and the leather couches that sat in front of a roaring fire. The room was lit very well – there were candles placed strategically around the strangely shaped room so that every oddly angled corner was lit. The ceiling was high, and above the entranceway was a loft that appeared to be a miniature study and library area – Harry could already see Hermione edging over to the spiral staircase in the corner with interest, and the Ravenclaws weren’t far behind her. Scattered through the room were comfortable looking chairs, and in the far corner there was a chess board. One wall was made up almost entirely of windows that, after a few seconds thinking, Harry reasoned must look out over the lake – below the windows was a long cushioned window seat, and it was here that the Gryffindors sat together.

The Slytherins had commandeered the couch, and Harry grinned as Anthony Goldstein threw himself down on the ground by the fire, settling out in a comfortable sprawl. The Ravenclaw caught Harry’s eye and gave him a cheeky wink, clearly aware of Justin’s pursed lips as he settled himself carefully in the chair nearest the fire, the Hufflepuff obviously not approving of Anthony’s choice of seat. Harry wiped the grin from his face as McGonagall stood before them, her pronounced silence becoming louder as the group took their time getting settled.

“If you are all comfortable,” she said dryly after a moment, and Harry had to stop himself smiling. He’d missed his old head of house – the woman could say more with one precisely raised eyebrow than most could with their mouths.

 

“Now, before I let you free for the evening, I am afraid we have a few things we need to cover. First and foremost – your schedules will be delivered tomorrow morning, but they will be different to what you are no doubt expecting. This is because your heads of houses and I have agreed that as your being here is somewhat... unconventional, you will have more responsibilities than the younger students. Because of the size of your year group, and because it has been difficult to organise your timetables, your class schedules are going to be very different than usual.” Harry could see Hermione biting her lip nervously out of the corner of his eye and he patted her knee absently to reassure her, but the bookworm didn’t even react, so focussed was she on McGonagall.

 

“You will all be attending your usual core classes, which include Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic. These Eighth Year classes will include information that you should have learnt last year, but they will also be adjusted for your more mature skill level. Another change we are implementing as of this year is that Muggle Studies is now compulsory from first year through to seventh, so you will all be attending that as your last core class, alongside your House mates in Seventh Year. I don’t think I need to explain to you why we have made this decision.” There was a heavy silence as she stared around the room. No one spoke, and after a pause, McGonagall moved on.  
  
“As for your electives – Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures and the like – these are all still available, though you will only be able to choose one rather than two, and you will be placed into the Seventh year classes. I do not want to hear of _any_ disruptions,” She peered at them all sternly over her glasses, her thin mouth pursued. “You should remember that though we are very glad you are here, it is a privilege, not a right. I expect all of you to behave as the mature adults you have become.”

Zabini snorted, and Ron glared across the room at the Slytherin, who made a rather rude gesture at the redhead behind McGonagall’s back.

 

“This is why,” the Headmistress continued, “after discussing it with your Heads of House, I have decided to entrust you all with a special project to be completed throughout this year. As you may have noticed, the castle is still in some state of disrepair. I will be assigning two of you each to a portion of the castle that needs fixing. You will be given two afternoons each week to work with your partner on your project, though I expect you to take initiative with this project. I warn you,” she said sharply, cutting over the excited whispers that had risen from the students. “I will be assigning you projects that I think you will either benefit from, or will have particular success with. Chances are, you _will_ be assigned with someone from another House. You will, if you excuse my bluntness, _deal with it._ ”

 

Hermione raised her hand and Ron sniggered, muttering to Harry behind her back ‘Professor, Professor’, in the same ridiculous voice he had used earlier in the evening. Harry smothered a grin as Hermione calmly pushed Ron off his seat as she spoke to McGonagall. Harry had to give the two Gryffindor women their credit – neither of them even flinched when Ron swore as he landed on his arse on the floor.

“Professor, you said we would be in pairs, but there are thirteen of us. Will someone be working alone?”

“Yes, Ms Granger, I actually have a particular task in mind for you to complete alone, if you don’t mind working by yourself?” the Headmistress asked, and Harry had to stop himself rolling his eyes fondly as his friend agreed enthusiastically.

 

Hermione and McGonagall had what Ron called ‘An Understanding’ – the understanding being, Ron had once explained with a scholarly tone that Harry privately thought had made him sound rather like Percy, that they were both terrifying and brilliant, and so would get along splendidly and have tea and biscuits when each had a spare moment. Hermione had scolded him, but the two boys could tell that she had been secretly pleased (though they were never sure if that was because Ron called Hermione brilliant, or because he’d called her terrifying).

 

“Now,” McGonagall was saying, “You may be Eighth Year, but you still should work hard to earn points for your Houses. Slytherins, your head of House remains Professor Slughorn. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Professors Flitwick and Sprout. Gryffindors,” she turned towards the window seat with a melancholy smile. “I am afraid that, as Headmistress, I am no longer able to be your head of House.”

There was a fond cry of dismay, though the five Gryffindors had expected as much.

“Oh, settle yourselves,” McGonagall scolded, though Harry could see there was a slight blush to her cheeks and her stern expression didn’t quite manage to hide the pleased note in her voice. “From now on, Professor Sinistra will be acting as Head of Gryffindor House. You may address any House issues to her.”

 

Anthony Goldstein, at this point, yawned quite loudly, apologising halfway through. Mafloy tiredly muttered “quite” from his spot at the far end of the couch.

“Not much more now, Mr Goldstein, though I apologise for keeping you up past your bedtime.” McGonagall said with a sharp smile, and the other students snickered as Anthony spluttered in protest. The ex-Head of Gryffindor had a whip smart sense of humour, but those outside her House rarely got the opportunity to witness it.

“Last but not least – as I have said, your being here is a privilege, but the staff have agreed that due to your age and _supposed_ maturity, you should be extended certain freedoms that the other students do not have access to. This includes the use of the Prefect Bathroom, which can be found just down the corridor, behind the fourth door to the left of the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The password is,” and McGonagall paused with a disdainful turn of her lips, “bubbly-wubbly.”

There were a few more snickers, and she continued on with an exasperated roll of her eyes. “Yes, most amusing. The other, and I dare I say, far more interesting freedom is this: provided that you sign out by writing your destination and expected return time next to your name on the large scroll,” she nodded towards a pinboard near the door that Harry hadn’t seen coming in, “then you may visit Hogsmeade at any time _after_ class hours.”

 

There was a swell of chatter from the group as they discussed this wonderful new freedom, and McGonagall nodded a brisk farewell, adding over her should “Gentlemen, your two dorms are up the stairs and to the left, ladies your room is the same on the right. Have a good evening, Eighth Years – and for Godric’s sake, try to be abed by a decent hour!” – but the students had barely heard her, as twelve of them chattered amongst themselves in their small groups about the school year to come. The thirteenth had slipped away unnoticed.

 

Harry was getting undressed for bed an hour later in the room he shared with Ron, Justin and Zabini when something jangled in his trouser pocket. He emptied the pocket out onto his bed, and stared at the silver coins there as he realised that Malfoy had disappeared up to his dorm almost as soon as McGonagall had left the common room.

‘Maybe he was just tired’, Harry thought as he placed the coins in a neat pile on his bedside table next to his glasses. But as he slid beneath the sheets of his four-poster bed, the heavy blankets settling soothingly over his shoulders, he couldn’t help the feeling that Malfoy had made a hasty retreat, though exactly from what, Harry could not say. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that maybe the year ahead wouldn't be so bad - even  _with_ sharing boarding space with the other houses - if Malfoy kept his head down. After all, it wasn't like Harry had to interact with him at all.

Yes, Harry decided sleepily. He would give Malfoy his pile of change the next morning, and that would be the end of it. They could spend the rest of the year ignoring each other, for all Harry cared. Actually, Harry mused optimistically, maybe this year would be a quiet one, now that Voldemort was gone for good. Maybe he'd be able to get through his classes and do this project for McGonagall without something ridiculous or dramatic happening to him.

Maybe he'd _finally_ be able to get on with his life. 

Well, one can hope, Harry thought dreamily as he finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep. 

 

 

In the room across the hall, behind powerful muffling and privacy charms, Draco Malfoy lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing for exactly the same thing. 

 

 


	6. Projects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny have a frank discussion, and the Eighth Years find out their special project - and who their partner for the year will be.

Harry had managed to sleep late, so when he stumbled down the stairs into the Entrance Hall the next morning, he was alone. This made it easy for Ginny, who it seemed had been waiting for him to make an appearance. As soon as he set foot in the Entrance Hall, Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him off to an empty side corridor.

“Harry, we need to talk.”

 

Harry felt a sudden stab of anxiety. If he was honest with himself, he’d been doing his best to avoid talking to Ginny alone. Many things had been lost over the last year, and it seemed that the spark Harry once felt when near the fierce red-headed girl was one of those things. Ginny must have seen something of his nerves on Harry’s face, because she rolled her eyes and drew him into a quick, tight hug, before hitting him gently upside the head as she pulled back.

“No, you idiot, not about that. I knew when you left me behind that we never really had any hope of making it out of the war with what we had intact. It’s okay, Harry. Really.” She smiled gently at him, like he was a deer about to startle. “We’re different people now, and that’s okay.”

 

Harry felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and he felt a twinge of regret that his love for the wonderful girl in front of him had swung back around to friendly rather than the – admittedly, a little awkward at times – passion they had shared for some of his sixth year.

“Thank you, Ginny. I’m really glad to hear you say that. You’ll find someone who loves you with everything he has, I know it.”

Ginny blushed prettily and shot Harry a sly smile.

“Yes, well. I _might_ have my eye on someone, but he’s being a little bit… obtuse, about the whole thing, honestly. But my love life, or current lack of, is not what I wanted to talk about. Harry, this is about Zabini.”

Harry frowned.

“What about him?”

Ginny’s eyebrows drew together.

“Look, I know you and Ron don’t trust him, but I need you two to back off, okay? Just… try to avoid arguing with the Slytherins this year. For me.”

Harry met Ginny’s gaze and couldn’t quite put his finger on the emotion that filled the hazel eyes of his friend. Well, other than the usual stubbornness that was a common feature among Weasleys.

“Yeah, okay. Alright, I’ll ask Ron to hold back. I don’t know why you’ve suddenly become the Slytherin’s protector or whatever, but I’ll ask.”

 

Ginny sighed and shook her head.

“I’m not their protector, I’m just... Merlin, Harry, I’m just so _tired_. I’m so tired of hating people just because they wear green rather than red. I’m tired of judging people I don’t even really know. I’m tired of living up to every bloody thing we tell ourselves the other side is evil for doing – for judging someone based on House, or their family. I’m tired of there being _another side._ Aren’t you?”

Harry didn’t say anything, but a piece of him that had become numb and dulled over the last few years raised its head in recognition at Ginny’s words. He huffed out a breath but nodded once, and Ginny smiled tiredly.

“Thank you. Come on, let’s go get some breakfast.”

 

Harry followed the ginger into the Great Hall, waving a quick goodbye as Ginny headed towards the Seventh Year table and Harry turned to go sit with Hermione and Ron at the new Eighth Year’s table. Ron was half asleep in his sausages, and Hermione was chatting excitedly with Padma Patil about what elective class they would each end up deciding on.

“I think I’m leaning towards Arithmancy,” Padma was saying, and Hermione nodded eagerly, taking a distracted bite from her marmalade smothered toast.

“I am as well, it’s my favourite subject. I did wonder whether or not I should take Ancient Runes, but after reading through the textbooks last night I just think Arithmancy will be more challenging, and I can always read up on Rune law myself later on.”

Harry sat across from his friends and Ron looked up from his meal and shot Harry a forlorn look.

“I was wrong. It wasn’t the Slytherins we needed to look out for, it’s the bloody Ravenclaws, Harry! Those two have been like this for over twenty minutes. And did you see Hermione and Goldstein talking last night about these projects we’re doing for McGonagall? I’ve never seen anyone other than Hermione be so pleased over extra work, the two of them were practically jumping around like kids in a Quidditch store!”

Harry chuckled and helped himself to some bacon and eggs, looking up when Neville sat next to him.

“Morning all.”

There were a few chorused greetings back at the Gryffindor, who had started to help himself to some porridge.

 

“So,” Ron continued, giving Harry’s foot a friendly kick under the table. “I see you and Ginny came in to breakfast together. Got that all sorted have you? Do I need to give you another talk about treating my sister right?”

He was clearly joking, but Harry ended up blushing anyway. Beside him, Neville had frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth as he looked between the two friends. Harry shook his head quickly, glancing around awkwardly to see who was listening – Ron had inadvertently gathered the attention of the whole table, the nosey gits. Harry could already see that only having thirteen at the table was going to be an issue for having private discussions, but Ron was looking at him in anticipation and so Harry shook his head again.

“No, it’s not like that. We’ve decided to just stay friends.”

Neville relaxed beside him and Harry shot him a pleading look, but Ron was already leaning forward over the table.

“Wait, so you guys aren’t getting back together? Why the hell not?”

“Well, I mean. I don’t know, we just- don’t feel that way about each other anymore?” Harry muttered, and Ron squinted his eyes at Harry as he looked at him suspiciously.

“And this was a mutual thing?”

Harry nodded and after a second Ron nodded and leaned back in his seat.

“Well thank Merlin, that makes everything a whole lot easier.”

 

Harry laughed, relieved, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Honestly Ron, you couldn’t have picked a more private time and place to grill Harry about his love life?”

Ron shrugged, not really caring that the table was still listening in to their conversation (with varying degrees of subtlety, Harry noted with some amusement).

“I’m just glad that Harry’s love life no longer contains my sister,” the redhead grinned at Harry and shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong mate, you’re a stand-up bloke, but you’re just not good enough for Ginny.”

Neville snorted and shook his head.

“If Harry’s not good enough for Ginny Ron, I don’t think you’re ever going to be pleased with who she ends up with. What chance do the rest of us have if the defeater of Voldemort doesn’t measure up?”

Harry blushed, embarrassed, but Ron was laughing along with Neville before he suddenly cut himself off as he realised just what the brunette had said, and he cried, outraged, “Oi, what do ya mean, ‘the rest of us’? Who wants to have a go at my sister?”

Hermione groaned and put her face in her hands, and the rest of the table broke into laughter. Harry shook his head and looked sideways at Neville, who had blushed high on his cheekbones and was still trying to placate Ron when Headmistress McGonagall arrived.

 

“Mr Weasley, in future please be so good as to keep your voice lowered to a civilised level.” The wry look on McGonagall’s face said she knew exactly how likely that would be, but Ron grinned sheepishly and nodded anyway, muttering a hasty “Yes Professor.”

 

“Now then. I’ve brought your timetables – you’ll notice that a couple of the places have not been filled in. If you tap your schedule with your wand and say what elective you have decided upon, it will be filled in for you and arranged as necessary.” McGonagall walked the length of the table as she spoke, handing each student a slip of parchment with their class times on it.

“You will notice that under your schedule,” she continued, reaching Harry and handing over his class plan, “is a description of the special project you will be completing this year, and who you are working with. I have included three texts that I believe may help you achieve this, and which can be found in the library. You will, of course, have to do your own research on top of this – these books are simply a starting point. There is a copy of the list of who is assigned to each project on the notice board in your common room. You may find it helpful to discuss ideas with other pairs who have similar tasks, or even just to brainstorm ideas. These are _your_ projects – though your heads of house and I will oversee your progress from a distance, ultimately the choices are yours. Remember – this is not only about extra credit to help you pass the year. This is your chance to leave a lasting mark on this castle,” McGonagall raised a single eyebrow in challenge. “Whether you improve on the old, or create something new entirely... Do what you will – but make it count.”  

 

The Headmistress nodded encouragingly to her students, and pulled a small rose-gold pocket watch from her robes. “Now – enjoy the rest of your breakfast. I shall see you on the sixth floor for Transfiguration in half an hour.” With a stern look that said that anyone who dared to be late would not be pleased with the result, McGonagall swept back up to the Head table, her emerald green cloak sweeping behind her elegantly. Harry finally looked down at the piece of paper and read his timetable quickly before skipping down to the details of his project for the year.

****

**_  
Your Eighth Year Project:_ **

_The Room of Requirement, on the Seventh floor across from the Barnabas the Barmy, was badly damaged in the Battle of Hogwarts. The cause appears to be fiendfyre. Your project is to find a way to heal the burns throughout the room and to restore the magic so that the room functions as it did before the fiendfyre scarred it. To gain access to the room, walk past the section of wall three times, focusing on what it is you need (eg: think “I need access to the room of requirement) and the door will appear._

****

**_Recommend textbooks:_ **

_A Guide to Magical Architecture by Rasim Medea_

_Advanced Magical Theory and Practice by Adalbert Waffling_

_Sentient Wizarding Settlements by Jengo Basir_

****

**_Your Project Partner:_ **

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry felt his stomach sink. If he didn’t know McGonagall better, he’d think it was a joke. _Malfoy_. He would have to spend the year working alongside _Malfoy._

Harry groaned quietly, and Ginny’s fierce gaze from earlier that morning popped into his mind, her voice echoing in his head.

_“I’m tired of judging people I don’t even really know…”_

 

Harry scowled – he knew Malfoy plenty well. He hadn’t been lying at the blonde’s trial. Malfoy wasn’t a murderer, but he _was_ a bigoted git, and dammit all Harry had wanted this year was to finish his schooling and hang out with his friends. Being made McGonagall’s poster boy for a new start wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

 

Harry looked up from his paper to see everyone else comparing class times and projects. Hermione was reading over her project, her eyes wide and moving swiftly over the page as she read. A smile was growing on her face. Beside her, Ron was tapping his schedule and saying carefully “Care of Magical Creatures”. Harry felt a prickle on the back of his neck and looked down to table just as Malfoy looked away. The Slytherin’s face was drawn, his mouth pressed thin and tight. For a second, Harry thought he looked angry, but then Malfoy risked a glance back up the table and Harry realised that the blonde wasn’t angry – he was _scared_.

Malfoy met his gaze for a second before standing up and leaving the table, his robes swishing behind him as he stalked out of the Hall, slinging his satchel over his shoulder as he went. Harry stared after him, confused, before his attention was drawn back to his friends.

 

“I’m so excited!” Hermione was chattering happily, “fixing the Great Hall is going to be so interesting, I’ll have to look into not only the structure of the ceiling but the charms that were used, and whether or not they’ve aged and sunk into the room’s aura, and that’s just to start with – I don’t know if one year will be enough, there’s just so much to do!”

“That’s all very well Hermione,” Ron interrupted, “but what the hell am I supposed to do about the broken statues and paintings? I don’t know anything about art!”

Dean Thomas laughed from a few seats down.

“Then you’re lucky you’re paired with me, Ron, because I do. How McGonagall knew that I want to go into Magical Art Theory, I don’t know, but this will look really good on my apprenticeship application!”

Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well thank Merlin for that – just don’t ask me to draw anything and we’ll do alright. And hey!” he added with a grin, “at least I’m working with a fellow Gryffindor, that’ll be fun. Who’re you working with Harry?”

Ron and Hermione had turned to hear his answer, and, still feeling a bit sick over it all, Harry simply handed over his piece of paper.  

 

Hermione skim-read his project and after a few seconds, frowned – no doubt she had reached Malfoy’s name.

“What was McGonagall thinking?” Hermione said sternly, and Harry nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t know, I mean Malfoy and I are likely to kill each other before the week’s out if we have to work together!” Harry agreed, and Ron choked on his mouthful as he realised who Harry was working with. Hermione on the other hand, was shaking her head and looking at him at little sadly.

“Harry that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, what was McGonagall thinking, having _Malfoy_ work on the Room of Requirement?” she prodded, and at Harry and Ron’s blank faces, she huffed angrily.

“Well I don’t know about you two, but if either of you had died in that room then _I_ certainly wouldn’t want to spend any time there!”

Harry’s gut sank even further.

“You mean Crabbe.”

“Of course I mean Crabbe!” Hermione said briskly. “I mean, I’m certainly no fan of Malfoy, but you’ve got to feel sorry for him. First his father and now this – I don’t know what possessed McGonagall, but I have a mind to speak to her about this, it’s just... it’s cruel!”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“You’re right, that is cruel. But McGonagall wouldn’t do this without a good reason, right? She’s strict as hell, but she isn’t _mean_. For whatever reason, McGonagall thinks Malfoy should be the one to work on the Room of Requirement. And,” he added, giving Harry a pitying look, “she obviously thinks Harry is the best person to work with him.”

The three were quiet for a few moments before Ron shrugged, helping himself to some more sausages.

“I always knew she was barmy.”

Harry chuckled weakly, and the trio finished their breakfast before the warning bell tolled and they left with the rest of the Eighth Years, all of them climbing up to the sixth floor to the new Transfiguration classroom. Malfoy was waiting outside the door, and he nodded to Bulstrode as the stocky girl clapped a hand on his shoulder. The blonde didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, and when the small throng of students entered the room, the three Slytherin’s sat at the back of the room. The trio sat behind Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, and when McGonagall stepped into the room, the chatter died down as the thirteen students began the first class of their last year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Of Snakes and Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first class back, and McGonagall has a favour to ask of Harry.

Harry groaned quietly under his breath as he stared down at the common lizard sitting glumly on his desk. It was definitely still a lizard, despite the lengthened neck and tail - but if he squinted, the scales _did_ look broader and smoother…

He shot a look over at Hermione on his left, and scowled. Ron saw where he was looking and nudged Harry, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“She missed a whole year of school too - I don’t know how she isn’t just as behind as we are!”

 

Hermione smiled contentedly down at the snake on her desk, it’s vibrant green scales perfectly even and smooth. It flicked its tongue out happily and hissed a hello to Hermione, who had turned to Ron.

“Because I made sure to pick up a book this summer Ron, and as ever, you did not.” She looked pointedly at the vibrant purple lizard on Ron’s desk, and the red-head turned back to his own school work, muttering something about trying to at least get the colour right. The purple lizard on his desk licked its eye, uninterested in the fact that its scales were going through the colour spectrum with every wave of Ron’s wand.

 

Harry huffed a laugh at Ron’s increasingly frustrated cussing, and cracked his neck before he looked back down at his own lizard. Maybe it was his pronunciation?

“Hermione, am I saying this right?” Harry asked, before turning back and waving his wand down the length of the lizard as he spoke the incantation.

“Lacerta recensere nathair”

Hermione nodded but reached out and corrected his grip. “You’re too tense in the wrist – it needs to be a smooth motion, not a jerking one. Try now.”

 

Harry cast the spell again and was pleased to see the lizard’s legs shrinking inwards and the scales smoothing out, broadening and changing colour as the reptile transformed. In a few seconds Harry had a snake curled up on his desk, looking rather dazed. His wasn’t as dainty as Hermione’s, and it was a duller green, but Harry sat back in his chair with a grin, pleased with the result all the same.

“Thanks ‘Mione,” he said, and she smiled at him before turning back to her snake, which she was turning different colours with lazy swishes of her wand. Ron was scowling at her, his lizard now changing sporadically between purple and orange on its own.

 

“ _Strange scales,”_ the snake on Harry’s desk hissed, and he looked around to make sure everyone was busy with their work before leaning down and hissing gently back.

“ _Yes – don’t worry, I won’t turn you a different colour.”_

The snake jolted in surprise and turned its small green head away from looking at its neighbour to stare up at Harry.

“ _Ah, most interesting. A Speaker. Tell me, large one – how did I come here?”_

Harry gaped down at the snake and stuttered.

“ _I- I made you. Well. I changed you. You were a lizard, before.”_

The snake hissed derisively.

“ _Legged one? I think not.”_

Harry jumped slightly as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Professor McGonagall peering down at him curiously.

“Well, I hadn’t considered this – this _is_ an interesting opportunity, Mr Potter. Would you mind interpreting?” she gestured to the snake and Harry shook his head.

“No, that’s fine – I mean. He doesn’t seem to remember being a lizard. He wants to know how he got here.”

 

McGonagall hummed and turned to observe the snake, waving her wand over it, a faint blue glow surrounding the reptile.

“The transformation is complete, organs as well as superficial appearance have changed, so well done there. Your scales do need a bit of work, but over all a decent job of it. Hmm. He seems rather distressed?”

Harry turned back to the snake, who was hissing impatiently at him.

 

“ _Speaker, what is the other big one doing? Make it stop, the light tickles. And why does she smell like the hunting ones?”_

 _“Hunting ones?”_ Harry asked, confused.

“ _Four legged ones. Fur and warmth and blood and arrogance.”_

 

Harry snickered and McGonagall raised her eyebrow.

“He wants to know why you smell like a cat.” Harry chuckled and the Headmistress’ lips quirked in a smile.

“Well, I don’t think we have the time to teach a snake about animagi. You say he doesn’t remember being a lizard - ask him what he does remember, if anything.”

Harry nodded and leaned down to his snake and hissed once more.

“ _What do you remember?”_

The snake flicked its tongue out.

“ _Warm. Light. New scent. Scared scent. Quick sound – bububububump. Then, strike, quick. The grass was sweet and the sun was bright and I was not hungry.”_

 

Harry looked back up at McGonagall and shrugged. “Just normal snake things, I think. Lying in the sun, the smell of the grass and I think hunting a mouse.”

The Professor nodded sagely, as though this had confirmed some theory she had, and thanked Harry before moving to the front of the class.

 

Everyone else was still prodding at their lizards, though a few others also had a snake on their desk. Hannah Abbott had turned around and was shyly comparing her dark green snake with Hermione’s vivid green one, the two discussing what factor influenced the colour. A few seats to her right, Anthony Goldstein was swearing under his breath and holding his lizard gently up by its tail – he seemed to be trying to transfigure each leg individually. Harry was about to say something when Blaise Zabini, who was sitting next to the Ravenclaw, reached over and slapped Anthony sharply on the wrist.

“Oh leave the poor bugger be, Goldstein, you’re not going to manage it just because you’re dangling the little wretch like a trapeze artist hanging off her boyfriend.”

Anthony cackled and wiggled his eyebrows ludicrously, his blue eyes glinting mischievously.

“I’ll bow to your expertise with suspiciously positioned gymnasts, Zabini. And with snakes, for that matter.”

To Harry’s surprise, the Slytherin grinned back at the Ravenclaw and leaned over conversationally, his voice lowered.

“As you should. But snakes? Goodness, no. Not really my area – well, not outside House Pride, anyway. If you’re interested in ‘snakes', you’re better off talking to-”

 

 

But Harry didn’t hear who Anthony should talk to, because McGonagall called for attention, and the room settled immediately. Harry cleared his throat and turned to listen to her, ignoring the prickle of curiosity that the overheard conversation had induced. It seemed his insight at breakfast was correct – it was going to be more difficult having private conversations when there were so few of them around. Any whispering or lowered voices would only draw attention, rather than avoiding it. But then, Harry supposed, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He always had been too curious for his own good.

McGonagall had finished collecting everyone’s reptiles in – no doubt they’d be used again in another class – and Harry hurried to put away his things. As he shoved his parchment and quill in his bag, there was a jingle of coins from the very bottom and he groaned. Damn, he’d almost forgotten.

 

Harry scanned the room for Malfoy, half hoping that he’d already have left – but no, he was waiting in front of McGonagall’s desk. Everyone else was filtering out of the classroom; Hermione and Ron were already at the door, but when they looked back Harry waved them on as he gestured to Malfoy. Ron looked between and nodded firmly, but Hermione frowned at him sternly before letting herself be dragged out of the classroom by the gangly red-head.

Harry scrabbled around in his bag for the change at the bottom, and after double checking that he’d gotten it all, moved to wait for Malfoy to finish talking to McGonagall.

 

“This is ridiculous, Headmistress, you honestly cannot expect-”

Malfoy’s words were heated, and Harry realised almost immediately that he probably should have waited outside the classroom for the blonde.

“I can, and I do expect, Mr Malfoy.” McGonagall was saying, but her eyes were caught by Harry shuffling uncomfortably behind the Slytherin and she scowled.

“Mr Potter if you are here to ask to be reassigned to a different project as well, I shall be-”

“No, I'm not, Professor!” Harry hurried to assure her, and Malfoy had turned around to glare at him. “I mean, I don’t really think Malfoy should be working on the Room of Requirement, but-”

“There, you see!” Malfoy said, vindicated as he turned back to the Headmistress. “Potter doesn’t think forcing us to work together is a good idea either!”

“Well, I mean – no, I don’t really want to work with you, but that’s not actually why I’m here.” Harry felt the need to add for honesty’s sake.

Malfoy snarled as he turned back around, and Harry almost took a step back.

“Don’t give me that shit, Potter,” he spat, ignoring McGonagall’s reproachful ‘Language, Mr Malfoy!’

“Why else would you be here waiting to talk to McGonagall if you weren’t asking to be reassigned? It’s a bit early in the year for detention, even for you!”

Harry scowled at the Slytherin and moved forward.

“I’m here to talk to _you_ , you pretentious git,” he said, reaching forward. He grabbed Malfoy’s hand and slapped the coins into his palm.

“Here. You forgot your change from the train yesterday.” Harry said snidely, before turning to leave the room.

 

“Mr Potter, a moment, if you please.” McGonagall called and Harry’s shoulders tensed. He knew that voice – that voice meant ‘I have something to say and you’re not going to like it’. He forced himself to turn around anyway and moved back to stand next to Malfoy. He didn’t turn to look at the blonde, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that the Slytherin was still looking at the coins in his hand, his face carefully masked in indifference.

McGonagall waved her wand, and two seats from the front row flew out from behind their desks and skidded to a stop next to the two students.

 

“Have a seat,” the Headmistress instructed, reaching inside her desk for the tartan patterned biscuit tin Harry had only seen once, back in his fifth year. She offered the tin and Harry took a gingernut biscuit as he sat down. Malfoy sat after a moment as well, but he ignored both the biscuit tin and Harry as he turned back to McGonagall.

 

“Professor, please, you _know_ why this isn’t a good idea.” Malfoy asked her once more, but she was already shaking her head.

“Mr Malfoy, if you would let me explain. I understand that this will be difficult – for the both of you, yes, but especially so for you Mr Malfoy. I have taken into consideration that this will be hard for you – working where Mr Crabbe passed away. But we all knew someone who died in the battle. We all must face the places where they fell, every day. You are no different.”

 

Malfoy was sitting ramrod straight, pointedly ignoring Harry sitting beside him. His face was impassive, blank, and it made Harry shiver a little. The Slytherin was withdrawing, right before Harry’s eyes. He wondered how McGonagall couldn’t see it.

“Professor, Malfoy’s right – surely you can find someone else to work with me, or put us both on another project.”

 

McGonagall was looking between the two of them, her eyes apologetic behind their frames.

“No, I’m sorry, but this is the best option. Mr Malfoy has spent more time in the Come and Go Room than anyone else I'm aware of. The only other person I can think of who had spent as much time there was-” McGonagall winced minutely at her slip, but continued on regardless. “Professor Dumbledore, and to be honest I think he spent most of his time there either swimming or muggle ten-pin bowling. Mr Malfoy knows how the room works.” She turned to address the Slytherin, her voice quiet but earnest. “You understand that room, Draco, better than most. And _that_ is why it must be you to fix it.”

“And assigning Potter to work with me?” Malfoy asked blandly, his voice even and empty.

“That, I confess, is just an old woman’s meddling. I hope that over the course of this year you will be able to put aside your differences and your past and just… get along.”

 

The Headmistress sat back in her chair and looked between the two boys she had watched grow up. Too fast, it seemed, they had become men. It was unfair, perhaps, for her to expect them to act like it – now that they finally had their last chance at a childhood. But ask, she must.

 

“You both underestimate how your rivalry influences this school. Especially now that you are seniors – what you do and say will be emulated by the younger students. I am _trying_ ,” McGonagall stressed, “to bring about an age of House unity here at Hogwarts. If your fellow students see the two of you working together, accomplishing something, _together_ … the message it would send could help change this school for the better – and perhaps even the Wizarding World, beyond that.”

 

Harry frowned as he nibbled on his biscuit. He had suspected as much, and though he wasn’t exactly pleased it was clear that Malfoy had reached his limit.

 

“Wonderful,” the Slytherin spat. “So we are to be your little project. Shall Potter and I shall run around the castle holding hands until your master plan is fulfilled? Do you know, Headmistress,” Malfoy sat forward and smiled sharply at her, all teeth and cold eyes, “You’ve picked the _perfect_ candidates. Potter here will bend over backwards to do whatever he can to help – hell, to help _anyone_ – and me? Well, as we all know, I’ve had extensive practice at being someone’s _puppet_. What’s one more to the list?”

 

Malfoy stood up and grabbed his satchel, swinging it over his shoulder as he walked out of the room, turning around in the doorway and giving Harry a smile that made both the Gryffindors flinch.

 

“Shall we meet during free period on Wednesday? How about in the Library? That should be _public enough_ ,” the Slytherin spat, his grey eyes burning with rage. Malfoy slammed the classroom door behind him, and McGonagall and Harry sat in stunned silence, staring after him.  

 

 

 

Eventually, Professor McGonagall sighed noisily and took off her square framed glasses, tapping each lens with her wand to clean it. Harry sat in silence, unsure whether or not he should go, or if he should try to reassure the Headmistress.

“Well?” she asked after a few moments, spreading her hands. “What do you think?”

“Pardon?” Harry asked, unsure what he was being asked.

“I have explained why I want Mr Malfoy working on this project, but I haven’t really explained why I want you there.”

Harry frowned. “I thought you wanted me and Malfoy to – I don’t know, be friends or something. Be an example of inter-house cooperation.”

McGonagall hummed in agreement.

“Well, yes – but that could have been done without having you and Draco work together. No, Harry, I’m afraid I’m asking for more than that.”

She gestured at the door, her sharp eyes concerned.

“I wonder, did that... reaction, did that remind you of anyone?”

Harry frowned and shrugged.

“Not really. I mean, I guess right after Sirius died I- oh.”

The Headmistress nodded.  

“Exactly. Harry, you know better than anyone what grief is like. You have had more than your share of it, and if I may say so, you have come out of it all incredibly well, considering your circumstances.” She smiled fondly at him, her usually shrewd gaze gentled as she looked across her desk at the scrawny young man before her. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but Harry – you’ve grown into a wonderful young man, and I know your parents would be so, so proud of you. Not just of what you’ve achieved, but of who you _are_. I know I am.”

Harry flushed, and coughed a little to clear his throat, which had grown strangely tight all of a sudden.

“Um. Thank you, Professor. Thanks. That means a lot.”

 

McGonagall nodded sharply, apparently a bit embarrassed, and offered him another biscuit. Harry took it, glad to have something to occupy himself with.

“But,” the Headmistress continued after a moment, “it is because of your experiences, and because of who you are that I am asking you for help. Mr Malfoy was right, no matter how crudely he might have put it. You help people, Harry. It’s just who you are.”

McGonagall looked over Harry’s shoulder at the closed door where Malfoy had disappeared. “And I think Mr Malfoy needs our help. I received a letter from Narcissa Malfoy last week. She is worried about her son, and from what little I have seen of Mr Malfoy this year, I can’t say her concerns are unfounded. This is why I’ve assigned you to work alongside Draco,” she turned to meet Harry’s eye. “Keep an eye on him. I know you two have a past, and I am not truly even expecting you to befriend him. But if Draco sees that even his childhood enemy cares about his wellbeing, then he might start to care for himself as well.”

“He’ll think I pity him.” Harry said, though he could see what McGonagall was aiming for.

“Then you’ll have to convince him otherwise.” McGonagall said primly, and somewhere in the distance, the bell from the clock tower chimed the hour, signalling the end of the morning tea break. Harry excused himself, and as he ran to his next class he snorted to himself.

 

No doubt this entire endeavour would end badly, but annoyingly enough, McGonagall and Malfoy were right. He wanted to help, anyway. Or at least, he was going to try.

Damn, Harry thought tiredly. So much for a simple year.

 

 


	8. Chit Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's such a short update guys, but I realised it's been nearly a month (and bloody hell has it been a long month) since I last updated so I thought I'd better get Something out for you lot! Hopefully I'll be updating again soon - keep an eye out, and don't forget to review. 
> 
> (And as always - this is unbeta'd, so if I've messed up somewhere, please let me know!)

 

 

The first two days of term flew by in a flurry of half remembered lessons and pounding rain that left inch deep puddles scattered throughout the courtyards. The lunch bell had just tolled, signalling the afternoon classes, when Harry entered the Library.

Being a senior student meant study periods – the 8th years all had theirs on Wednesday afternoons while the majority of the younger students still had class. This meant that the library was still fairly empty when Harry picked his way carefully through the aisles of books – only the odd student was studded throughout the room, heads bent over books and notes alike. He couldn’t see any sign of Malfoy, and the main tables had been commandeered by a group of Ravenclaw fifth years, so Harry made his way to the back of the library to an alcove that Hermione had unofficially claimed as hers early on in their schooling.

In this alcove there was a single desk, just long enough to fit three people (or Hermione on her own when she spread her books around her) and a large window that looked down onto the grounds of Hogwarts. The weather outside was stereotypically British, with grey clouds that rumbled across the sky and drenched the rolling countryside below.

 

Harry sat and let himself drift for a few minutes, watching the beads of water race each other across the pane of glass. He was brought out of his reverie by a heavy bag of books being slammed down next to him. Harry startled at the loud noise, and turned to scowl up at Draco Malfoy’s smirking face.

“Bit jumpy, aren’t we Potter?” the blond drawled, his grey eyes sharp and amused.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Glad you could finally make it, Malfoy.”

The smirk on the Slytherin’s face transformed into a brief sneer as he sat down at the far end of the table, crossing his legs gracefully as he leaned back in his seat. Harry felt a quick flash of annoyance – even when he was so obviously not feeling his best, Malfoy still exuded elegance. 

“I expected you to be at the main tables – should have known you’d be back here in Granger’s hideaway. Don’t want to be seen with the Death Eater after all, no matter McGonagall’s little plot.” Draco sneered, opening his bag and pulling out a pile of books.

Harry sighed. “That’s not it, Malfoy – I’m just used to studying here. Besides, I would have thought you’d prefer some privacy.”

Malfoy refused to meet his eyes, separating the books into two piles and pushing one towards Harry.

“What I would _prefer_ , Potter, isn’t about to happen. The Headmistress is obviously set on this ridiculous idea of hers - so instead, _this_ is what’s going to happen; we’re going to research that bloody room and get it fixed as soon as we can – I think you’ll agree the less time we have to spend together, the better. Today, we’re going to read these books – take down any notes you think could be helpful, and for Salazar’s sake, make sure that chicken scratch you pass off as handwriting is actually _readable_.”

Harry pulled the books towards him, and grabbed the first one without looking at the title.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to just go to the Room of Requirement?”

Malfoy’s shoulders tensed and he answered without looking up from his book.

“Oh yes, _brilliant_ idea Potter. Except we don’t know if the summoning spell on the door will still work, and if it does, if it’s stable. We don’t know what kind of magic the room uses, or how it works beyond request and supply. We don’t even know if the- if the Fiendfyre is still burning.” Malfoy looked up and Harry could see that while his face was schooled into a scornful mask, his usually cold eyes were filled with dread. No sooner had Harry noticed this than Malfoy turned away, looking down at his book as he spoke, his words ringing with false calm.  “We’re not going anywhere near that fucking room until we’re _prepared_. I know you like to run off into situations that will get you killed-”

“What, like flying back into that room to save your arse?” Harry said without thinking, and Malfoy’s head jerked up from his book violently, his face pale with anger and his mouth shutting so forcefully his teeth clicked.

“Sorry,” Harry said immediately, wincing at his own blunder. He was so used to their fights that he had slipped back into their usual cutting banter without thinking – without considering that things were different now. Or at least, that he was trying to make things different, if only as a favour to both Ginny and McGonagall. He must be _civil_ , Harry reminded himself.

“No, you’re right,” said Malfoy, his voice sharp as ice. “ _Just_ like flying into that room. If you had any sense of self preservation, you’d have left me there. You had no reason to go back, and I still don’t know why you did. We aren’t _friends_ , Potter. We won’t ever be friends, no matter what McGonagall wants.”

“Look Malfoy,” Harry said seriously, trying to meet and hold the Slytherin’s eye. “Honestly, I don’t really know why I went back for you. Maybe it was just because I didn’t want another death on my conscience. Or maybe it was because Dumbledore was right, that night on the tower – there’s good in you, and he saw that.”

 

Malfoy’s mask slipped briefly and his mouth turned down at the corners, but Harry continued speaking, his gaze now fixated on the quill he was twirling between his fingers.

“Hell, _I_ saw it – after all, I might have saved your life, but you saved mine first. You _knew_ it was me at the manor, but you didn’t say anything. Why is that? Like you said - we aren’t friends, Malfoy. And yeah, I doubt we ever will be. But I don’t think we’re enemies, either. At least, not any more. Maybe we weren’t ever… not really. And honestly, I’m just too tired to keep hating you – and I think you’re tired too.”

Malfoy simply stared at Harry, slumped back in his seat – his green and silver tie was at an angle, and his hair was mussed. Harry didn’t let his gaze linger on the defeated line of his shoulders, but instead focussed in on Malfoy’s gaze – he _was_ tired, Harry could see that plain enough. Even so, the silver eyes were calculating as the Slytherin digested what Harry had said.

“So, what?” Malfoy asked finally. “We just go along with McGonagall’s pet project? Pretend that we’re friendly so everyone else can play catch up and realise that none of this actually _matters?_ ”

Harry nodded, pulling a piece of parchment towards him and opening his first book.

“Basically, yeah. We’ll be civil enough to get McGonagall off our backs, get this project done, and then we can go back to ignoring each other.”

 

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over Harry’s face as he contemplated their situation. Eventually he sighed, leaning forward in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you know, I actually thought my life would get _less_ complicated after the war?”

Harry startled both of them by barking out a laugh.

“Join the club.”

The two eighth years smiled at each other tiredly, before simultaneously realising what they were doing, and awkwardly looking away.

“Enough chit chat,” Malfoy said briskly, a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks the only outward sign that he was embarrassed. “Let’s get to work.”

Harry nodded, re-opened his first book, and began to read.

 

 


	9. Recollection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to Hagrid, some news for Hermione and a game of chess between friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAS NEARLY BEEN A YEAR I AM SO SORRY.

It was the end of the week and Harry, Ron and Hermione decided on Saturday morning that it was about time they went to visit Hagrid.

The Gameskeeper had been keeping busy helping with general repairs around Hogwarts, clearing debris and rubble from still cordoned off corridors, planting a new line of trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to replace the ones that had been toppled by giants during the battle, or spending time rebuilding his hut, which had not been repaired from Bellatrix LeStrange setting it ablaze at the end of Harry’s sixth year.

While his house was being rebuilt, Hagrid had moved into an old classroom located on the first floor, not far from the main courtyard. When Harry, Ron and Hermione had knocked just past eleven that Saturday morning, Hagrid had opened the door, stooping down slightly to see who was waiting to be received.

“Shoulda known you lot would be round!” Hagrid said with a smile, ushering them inside. “I’ll put th’ kettle on. Down, Fang, you daft mutt.”

Harry grinned and scratched behind Fang's ears, the huge dog leaning heavily against his side. The room had been emptied of nearly everything that had once made it a place of learning – only a blackboard on the far wall served as a reminder of the room’s previous purpose. Hagrid had managed to fit a giant bed into one corner, and against one wall was a small wood oven, no doubt charmed so the smoke would disappear rather than release into the room. The opposite wall had tall windows that let in the sunlight – a pair of yellow curtains hung from a hastily installed bar above them able to be pulled across for the evening; at the moment, the windows were open and a fresh breeze drifted gently in. A solid wooden table and a handful of mismatched chairs (one much larger than the others) were in the centre of the room, and the group moved to take a seat.

“It’s good to see you Hagrid,” Hermione said as she sat down on a tall, rickety stool. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain ‘ermione,” Hagrid replied as he placed a round green tin full of stale looking biscuits on the table. Ron cautiously helped himself to one, grimacing slightly as he bit into one – Hagrid didn’t notice as he continued talking to Hermione.

“Been keepin’ busy, what with cleaning up the mess round ‘ere. Lots still ta do – though o’ course you’ll know ‘bout that. I hear Headmistress McGonagall’s givin’ you eighth years some work o’ your own to do?”

Hermione nodded excitedly and opened her mouth – no doubt going to start talking about her project fixing the ceiling of the Great Hall – but Ron quickly cut her off, his voice muffled slightly as he chewed on a biscuit.  
  
“Yeah but we’ve got less classes so it balances out alright.”

Hermione huffed at being interrupted but let it slide, taking a sip of her tea. Hagrid smiled at the redhead, his beard twitching up at the corners of his mouth as he nodded at Harry and Ron.

“Glad ta see two are doing Care o’ Magical Creatures this year. Got some interesting things planned for ye’.” 

The two Gryffindor boys shared a faintly concerned look before quickly changing the subject once more. The group sat and chatted for an hour or so, and Hagrid was just pouring the second round of tea when an owl flew in one of the open windows. It landed on the table in front of Hermione, and held out it’s leg. Hermione took the letter, gave the owl the rest of her biscuit, and ripped the envelope open.

Her curled head remained bent over the letter as she read furiously for a few moments before sitting back in her chair. Her face was drawn and her lower lip was trembling slightly.

“Well, what is it? What’s wrong Hermione?” Ron asked, his voice quiet with concern. Hermione simply handed the letter to him and looked away, focussing on something out the window. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Ron quickly began to read aloud.

“To Miss Hermione Granger – we have attempted to reverse the memory charm placed on your parents, but have had little success. The usual reversal charms do not seem to be affecting the patients, and myself and my fellow recollection professionals are uncertain whether or not Jane and Edward Granger (currently responding to the names Monica and Wendell Wilkins) will recover from the charm in due course, or if heavier spell-work will be required to break the charm.”

Hermione let out a small sob and quickly muffled herself with a hand over her mouth. Ron glanced at her in concern, but she waved him on and after a second he continued reading.

“We write to you Miss Granger, as your parent’s only living relative, to ask permission should the latter, invasive spell work be deemed necessary. There are always risks involved in memory charms, and so in accordance with Australian Magical Law, the next of kin must give legal permission for us to proceed in treatment. Please find the attached slip and respond as necessary. I am sorry that I could not deliver to you some better news. I am yours, Florence Osane – Director of Recollection Remedies, Sydney Hospital of Wizarding Ailments.”

Hermione had quieted, though her shoulders trembled every so often as she held back her tears. She held her hand out for the letter, and Ron gave it to her without a word. She sat and stared at the parchment.

“Hermione-” Harry began, not really sure what to say, but she interrupted him.

“It’s my fault,” she said quietly and Hagrid reached across the table and gently took her hands in one of his huge palms.

“We all did things ‘ermione, things we thought were for th’ best. Your parents are alive because o’ you. Don’t you forge’ tha’.”

Hermione smiled weakly and nodded, though her eyes still shone with tears.

“They’ll figure it out, ‘mione.” Ron said, scooting his chair closer to Hermione’s so he could wrap a comforting arm around her. “They’re professionals – they know what they’re doing.”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, leaning into Ron’s arm around her shoulders. Harry sent her an encouraging smile when she met his eye across the table. She smiled again, stronger this time, and her shoulders set in determination.

“Quite right,” she said with a nod, and she picked up the letter again before detaching the second piece of parchment – the form she had to sign. “Hagrid, you don’t happen to have a quill, do you?”

As he watched Hermione sign with a determined flourish, Harry felt himself admiring her strength. Hermione had done something incredibly difficult when she locked away her parents’ memories – Harry only hoped that Ron was right, and that his friend would eventually have her parents back.

He couldn’t imagine what it must be like, looking into the face of someone you loved and not seeing any recognition shining back at you. The very thought of Ron or Hermione looking at Harry and not knowing who he was unsettled him, made him queasy. Harry’s mind flitted briefly to Neville, giving his absent parents bubble-gum wrappers, and then for some reason to the now infamous photo of Malfoy, sobbing in his chair at the Malfoy trial just after his father had been taken away to the dementors.

The sick feeling in Harry’s stomach increased.

Please, he thought suddenly, desperately to himself. Don’t let Hermione end up in the same boat. Let the Healers fix Mr and Mrs Granger. Let them _remember_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The weeks seemed to fly by, and Harry quickly settled back in to the hustle and bustle of life at Hogwarts. Classes were interesting, if challenging, and the pile of homework never seemed to diminish. The eighth years’ common room was more often than not filled with the quiet hum of conversation in the evenings as everyone did their best to keep up with the course-load, swapping notes and practicing spells. Hermione could often be found in the loft above the common room, swapping notes with either Padma Patil or Susan Bones.

Every so often Anthony Goldstein would join them, and his loud laugh could be heard as he made off colour jokes to the amused exasperation of his fellow Ravenclaws, who were more accustomed to his frankly dirty sense of humour than the rest of the eighth years. Harry still blushed when he thought about the joke Anthony had told the other week at breakfast, which had resulted in Blaise Zabini snorting pumpkin juice as the Ravenclaw laughed uproariously, slapping the Slytherin on the back as he spluttered – somehow the experience had cemented a strange sort of friendship between the two. Harry didn’t quite know what to make of it, and it seemed no one else quite did either – Harry had seen Malfoy raising a pointed eyebrow in Zabini’s direction one morning, and Padma Patil had sat herself beside the two boys at each meal for three days before proclaiming that their friendship was simply a bond forged in “truly revolting, crude attempts at humour” -  and that seemed to be that.

 

It was a quiet Thursday evening a few weeks into term and Ron and Harry had put aside their homework for the night, settling down for a game of chess. The common room wasn’t quite full, and the low hum of conversation filled the oddly shaped area as they played.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Ron asked suddenly as he watched Hermione climb the spiral stairs chatting happily with Susan. “Hermione making friends like her, I mean.”

“I guess,” Harry said, not really paying attention as he stared down at the chessboard between them; Ron’s King was very close to being cornered and Harry was determined to win at least _one_ match this week.

“I just mean – well, you and I, we don’t really like the whole school, learning thing. I mean, we do alright, but we don’t… I don’t know. Appreciate it – not like Hermione does.” Ron said, moving his bishop without looking away from where Hermione had disappeared up into the loft turned study. He knocked down Harry’s knight and added “Check”.

Harry swore, his previous plan in ruins, and moved his King to safety before replying.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I certainly think it’s a good thing – don’t get me wrong, I love Hermione but I’m certainly not missing trying to respond to her theories regarding the effect of ancient runes on the success of the Ancient Egyptian people or whatever. So, yeah – her having friends who are keen on that kind of talk is fine by me.”

Ron hummed and moved his rook, and Harry let himself have a moment of pride as he took out the opposing queen. He glanced up to check his friend’s expression (Ron always made the funniest faces when he missed an easy mistake in chess) but the redhead was still staring almost sadly up at the loft.

“Oh for- _Ron!_ ” Harry said sharply and the other Gryffindor jumped. “She’s not going to ditch us just because she’s made some new friends. We’ve been through too much shit for that, be realistic.”

Ron shook his head, finally turning back to the game and scowling as he realised his queen had been taken while he wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s not that. It’s just strange, I guess.” Ron shrugged as he moved his rook for a second time.

“I’m being ridiculous, I know,” the ginger huffed. “I just- keep turning around and thinking she’ll be there like she always has been, but sometimes now she’s not – she’s up _there_ , studying with the Ravenclaws. It just- It’s silly, I know, but I don’t like her not being with us for some reason.”  

Harry rolled his eyes – the sheer obliviousness that his friend was capable of at times astounded him.

“Well, at least we know one thing hasn’t changed,” Harry said kindly and Ron perked up.

“Oh? What?”

“You’re still an idiot,” Harry told Ron serenely, and put his King in check.

 

 


End file.
